The Helpmate
by Green'n'Gold
Summary: When Hermione becomes Professor Snape's Apprentice and undercover partner, neither of them expect to fall in love. Of course, once the inevitable happens, certain parties must be kept unawares. When the truth comes out, a betrayal of astounding proportions forces them to reconsider their place in the war. Do they want to be a part of the world where only one of them is accepted?
1. Prologue: Ruined

Prologue:

_The double-doors of the Wizengamot were flung open by two Aurors, prompting the crowded courtroom to erupt in a hateful frenzy. Today was the day they had waited exactly thirty one days, four hours, and twenty nine minutes for. He knew. He had been counting. _

_The photographers, both for the _Prophet _and for several international publications, were disappointed by their first glimpse of the prisoner. Despite his obvious state of neglect- unwashed, malnourished, and battered though he was- he still carried himself as a king._

_Naturally. Why wouldn't he? He seemed to think he'd done the world a favor. _

_Collin Creevey, the photographer for_ The Quibbler_, was afforded a top notch seat right in front of the bar. He could would recognize the man anywhere, as the grease in the man's hair was a dead giveaway. _

_He tried to quell the urge to dance about in his seat. The git was finally going to get it. Maybe Harry and Ron would like copies, or Hermione if she could be found. No one had seen her in nearly a month. Understandable._

_Meanwhile, the prisoner was doing his best to keep his head up. He didn't want anyone- much less her, because he would never forgive himself for being so vulnerable when she needed him to be strong- to see his apprehension. This could make or break him. This was the difference between Azkaban and Rose Cottage. This was the point of no return._

_But he could face it. He could do anything with her. As long as she was on his side, he could face it. He could face a thousand Dementors with a quarter of one memory with her. And he had hundreds of happy memories. Every second with her was pure, unadulterated bliss. _

_He couldn't go to Azkaban. Ten months was not enough time with her. He was a greedy, selfish bastard, he knew, but he was _her_ greedy, selfish bastard. _

_He had come in the courtroom prepared for all numbers of receptions from her. A calm, collected smile. A fanatic wave. A vixen grin. Maybe she would leap over the banister and fling herself at him. Or, if things were not going as planned, she would reach out to him, sobbing, her arms reaching towards him._

_Wanting him._

_As far as he was concerned, that made her the most beautiful person in the world._

_He scanned the courtroom with his eagle eyes full of distain for the common carrion feeders filling the chairs, aisles, and whatever other surface was not already occupied by the members of the Wizengamot. He was disgusted to see that some members had their spouses and children seated with them, as though he wasn't possibly walking to his death._

_The blood in his veins ran cold as he looked at the bench where those giving testimonies were sat. There were no soft smiles or warm tears. There was no look of comfort, or determination. _

_She wasn't there. _

_His colleague, his partner, his friend, his lover, his helpmate, his wife…was nowhere to be seen._

_Collin Creevey caught the exact moment he crumbled on film. He quickly flipped the photo over and scribbled a title on the back. This was a work of art and deserved to be titled as such. He would call it:_

Severus Snape, Ruined.

**Author's Note: I will probably recycle this prologue for several of my stories. I might make some minor changes to it, but it will overall be the same. No worries, this may well be the only constant that my HGSS stories have. **


	2. Chapter 1: Benefit of the Doubt

Chapter One: Benefit of the Doubt

_October, 7__th__ Year_

He was grading papers when she entered the classroom. The heels of her shoes clacked sharply against the gray stones of the dungeon floor. The fact that she was wearing heeled shoes irked him for some reason. Granted, she was no longer a student bound by the dress code. She had taken her NEWTs over the summer holidays and was being passed teacher to teacher as a temporary aide of sorts. That was all well and good, but did Minerva or Sybil wear high heels? No. Being the bloody Gryffindor Princess didn't give her the right to flaunt her status as a non-teacher, non-student hybrid nuisance.

"Ten points Gryffindor for obnoxious footwear," he muttered under his breath. He was in the middle of his first years' atrocious essays on Flobberworms and he really had no time to deal with her just now.

"I've a request from Madam Pomfrey," she said as she stood before his desk. As he was stubbornly avoiding eye contact, he didn't notice her contrite posture. Hermione generally felt very grown up until she entered Professor Snape's classroom. Her ankle boots may have had heels, her maroon sweater-dress may have hugged her curves, her face may have looked older with her hair pulled back in a loose knot, but she still looked at her Potions Master in reverence.

Still Snape did not deign to look up from Mary Greene's horrendous spelling. Honestly, the girl was in Ravenclaw.

Hermione frowned as his quill scratched out an enormous red "T" on a paper. For spelling.

"She has dyslexia."

"I beg your pardon, Miss Granger?" He asked. Dis- what?

"Dyslexia. Mary Greene is dyslexic." She nodded to the paper as he furrowed his brow in confusion. "It is a condition which makes reading and writing difficult. Letters and numbers get mixed up, or look like they are moving. It's like trying to follow ants on a page."

"How do you know this, and I do not?" Snape had meant to leave off the last bit, but Miss Granger seemed to gloss over his comment. He was well and truly annoyed that he seemed to be the last one to know anything important. He knew the Dark Lord's plans for his Death Eaters and Dumbledore's plans for the Order, and the plans that everyone and their step-brother's cousin had for Harry Potter, but when it came to his students, he was kept in the dark. Another reminder from Dumbledore that teaching was his cover, and spying his job.

"Do you know her brother, Patrick?" Of course. Pompous little twit, a Ravenclaw Percy Weasley. He nodded. "I caught him bullying her in the library. He was spellchecking her letter home, in which, by the way, she was apologizing to her parents for her bad spelling affecting her grades. Anyway, he called her retarded and said that she disgraced Ravenclaw. She was in tears, and honestly, I wanted to beat some sense into his thick skull. I shooed him off, sat with her, and figured out what was going on."

"I should have noticed," he admitted, glaring down at her paper. "Her information is always spot-on, it's just the writing."

"It's not your fault. She just needs to learn to read every letter of every word on its lonesome, then put the letters into words and the words into sentences."

"How do you know so much about this?"

"I'm dyslexic," she said simply. "I guess breaking down every sentence helps me absorb information. I'll keep working with her, and she'll show some improvement soon."

"Ah," was all Severus could reply. His reasoning told him that dyslexia should be qualified as a learning disability, but if Hermione Granger had it, how bad could it be?

"About Madam Pomfrey's request," she said, pulling a parchment from the pocket of her loose amber vest. "She's running low on half a dozen potions. A couple of sixth years thought they should try mixing Dreamless Sleep and Pepper Up to get high. And there's a bug going around making students sick, so we need fever reducer and stomach soother. Then she needs the usual pain relief and calming draughts."

"And I suppose she wants them all today?" He set Miss Greene's essay off to the side to re-read later. "Well she'll have to wait. I'm knee deep in essays and I have to hand them all back tomorrow."

Hermione frowned, but admitted she had expected as much.

"The fever reducer and stomach soother are sort of an emergency. They're also the simplest and safest to brew. Do you mind if I make them myself right now? I'll technically be under your supervision, so there's no problem."

"Do you how to do this without my assistance?"

"I'm the resident swot, of course I do," Hermione grinned. "I learned from the best."

Ten minutes later she was set up at the student's desk directly in front of his, busily preparing potion ingredients and preparing the two cauldrons. He caught himself staring at her several times through his bangs as he gave the poorly written essays a cursory glance. He was surprised to find that Hermione Granger, "resident swot," was really quite pretty. When had _that_ happened? When had her unbearable hair become tame? When did she get those curves? He saw her eyes flash up towards him, then back down at her work. Her eyes were much too golden to be classified as brown. At the most boring they were amber. Impassioned they would be Firewhiskey; sated, honey.

Severus literally and figuratively shook himself. Impassioned. Sated. He felt like a lecherous old man, lusting after an ex-student. He shook himself.

"Professor, may I ask you something?" He was finally forced to look up at her full on. He doubted she realized how she looked just then, having come around the desk to lean against it, her long legs stretched out in front of her. "I won't bother you if you would rather I didn't, but it's important."

"Important how?" He inquired.

"It is in relation to the roles you play, for Dumbledore and for _him_." Hermione bit her lip, unaware at the odd eroticism Snape found in the gesture. _Did she _have_ to do that_? "Professor?"

"Continue," he finally choked out, realizing he'd stared a moment too long.

"I'm sorry if I'm speaking out of turn, Sir, but it isn't fair."

Oh, was that all? Shock and awe, he thought it was something new.

"It may have escaped your notice, Miss Granger, but _life_ isn't fair. Continue your potions."

"I'm not finished, and I haven't asked my question. You don't even know what I'm asking." Hermione was indignant. How dare he? He didn't even know she was trying to help him. "What I'm trying to say is that on top of your duties as a teacher, you are also being forced to play two sides of the chessboard. What I could help you in a way that benefits you on all three fields?"

Snape was frozen, looking incredulously at the young woman before him. Seeing that he wasn't going to respond any time soon, or at least wouldn't react too terribly, Hermione pushed herself off the desk and went to plant her palms on his. She had no fear of being in close proximity of him. She was hyper-aware of his physical closeness- he was her extremely male ex-Professor after all- but she was able to ignore it. She wasn't uncomfortable around him, but she felt that she was invading his personal somehow. She hoped that he realized she wouldn't make him uncomfortable if she didn't think it was important.

"Sir, what if I was your link to Harry? I could tell you when he's about to do something stupid, or putting himself in danger, or anything remotely useful. You would keep trust in the Order because technically you would get recognition for saving Harry, and you would be able to pass on whatever information is the most harmless to the Dark Lord. You're increasing trust on either front."

"And how would you accomplish this in such a way that neither the Order nor the Dark Lord suspect that you are also spying, and still help me in my teaching?"

"This is where I gain the benefit as well," she grinned conspiratorially. "An Apprenticeship."

"I beg your pardon?"

"An Apprenticeship. That would put me at your disposal nearly twenty-four/seven. It would put me close enough to you that the Order will believe me to be keeping an eye on you, while the Dark Lord will see you luring Harry Potter's best friend away from him. In the meantime, I can accomplish the more mundane tasks that you have no wish to do- collecting and storing ingredients, supervising detentions, and so on- leaving you more time to do whatever you need. I will also be well on my way to being the first Potions Mistress in England." She stood straight, clasping her hands behind her back, waiting for him to respond.

Snape sat in awe. This could work. On proverbial paper, it was all very well thought out. But paper did not allow for emotional friends and suspicious Order members. Nor did it allow for talented Legilimens, such as the Dark Lord, or even Narcissa Malfoy.

"And how will your beloved Potter and Weasley react to your theoretical Apprenticeship to the dungeon bat?"

"Harry and Ron will, to be frank, be disgusted and perplexed as to why I am voluntarily spending any amount of extra time with you, at least for the first few weeks. However, they will come around- they always do. Until then, you can portray Harry as emotionally weak to the Dark Lord, hurt by my supposed betrayal. As Harry 'heals' from my picking you over him, I will begin to appear more valuable, gaining trust over time. Therefore, we should be able to drag out my usefulness indefinitely." Hermione suddenly frowned. "And don't call yourself the dungeon bat. I have enough of a time getting Harry and Ron to stop saying it, I don't need you degrading yourself, too."

Her reasoning was sound. But he had questions before he leapt into any agreements with the girl. He chose to ignore her comments about his…nickname.

"Do you know what an Apprenticeship entails?"

"Three years of intense study underneath a master of the specified Art, in this case Potions."

"Yes, but becoming my Apprentice makes you the equivalent of my servant. I will have complete and utter control of your life. You will eat, sleep, and breathe on my schedule. If I say that you cannot communicate with Potter or Weasley for a specified amount of time, you will neither see, hear, nor have any kind of contact with them. If the Dark Lord decides he wants to see you, I will have no choice but to bring you to him." He took a breath. "Granted, any contract we sign will be magically binding, and if we include a clause about my preventing you from being harmed, then we might be able to work around it. And you will be brought before the Dark Lord. Also, as my Apprentice, you would be expected to move in my social circles. You would have to act the part of a Pureblood socialite. Do you understand?"

"I understand that."

"You will do _exactly_ as I tell you. You will complete every order with precision and timeliness."

"As always, Sir."

He sat still for a few moments. "We will speak no more of this until I am able to obtain the express permission of both the Headmaster and the Dark Lord. Neither of them, as you can imagine, like to discover things after they have already happened."

"That's ridiculous! All of these years of working for them, and neither of them, not even Dumbledore, trusts you enough to make an executive decision?" Snape was touched by her disbelief, oddly enough. It was nice to think someone had a little faith in him, misplaced though it was.

"When do you come and work for me in the rotation?"

"Let me see. It's October now…I have two more weeks with Madam Pomfrey, then a single week with Professor Trewalney. I'll spend all of November with Professor Flitwick, two weeks with Hagrid, and three weeks with you, Sir."

"May I ask who came up with the arrangements and why they are so varied between teachers?"

"Highly unfair, I know. Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster arranged my schedule. They wanted me to focus on Charms, Transfiguration, and Arithmancy. They believe those are the areas I show the most aptitude for. I had to bully them about my time between you, Hagrid, and Trewalney. They gave me two, two, and two. I think that any more than a five day week with Trewalney would end with at least one of us, if not both of us and a handful of unfortunate passersby, dead of horribly unnatural causes. That left me with five weeks to split between you and Hagrid. I was already thinking of this, just toying with the idea, when I requested a third week with you."

"And how did the half-giant take this?"

"Hagrid knows I'm only taking my two weeks with him because we're friends. I have no propensity for creatures whatsoever, magical or otherwise. I fear that those two weeks will mostly consist of good tea, pleasant conversation, and horrible rock cakes."

Snape hummed in agreement at the mention of Hagrid's rock cakes- he had often been subjected to them when Lily had dragged him to see the mountain of a man.

"Anyway, I wanted extra time with you to see if we can work together and make a final decision on everything."

"You're a rather bossy woman, Miss Granger, has anyone told you that?"

"Daily. What say you, Professor Snape?"

Snape paused in his thoughts. "If, and only if, I can convince both of my masters of the benefits of the situation, I will discuss an Apprenticeship with you. But-" he cut her off mid-girlish-scream. "Only if you are absolutely certain you wish to pursue a degree in Potions. I have no wish to waste my time, ingredients, or instruction on someone who is not serious about the subject matter. I don't care how much it would benefit me. I take my privacy very seriously, and I don't take anyone into it lightly, as you are asking me to do."

"Sir, I may be an acceptable student in Transfiguration, Charms, and Arithmancy, but I have no wish to spend my life teaching people to turn matchsticks into needles, or making feathers fly." Hermione finished bottling her potions, put the vials in a wire basket, and headed to the door.

Curiosity, a personal characteristic Snape usually reserve for his spying matters, got the best of him. "What is it that you wish to do, Miss Granger?"

She paused by the door, the firelight from the dungeon stairway illuminating her face like a picture. He felt his heartbeat stumble, his breath hitched in his throat. _God_…

"I want to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I want to bottle fame, brew glory, and maybe put a stopper in death. I've had quite enough of foolish wand waving. Haven't you?" And with a smile and a wink, she was gone.

Severus sat still for several minutes, staring at the spot where she had stood. Then he ducked his head back to his students' papers, smirking. He had always loved that speech. Much better than old Slughorn's.

**Author's Note: A nice, mid length chapter for you to start off with. The next chapter is going to be a bit shorter than I would like, but I may go back and change that, so look out for an update!**


	3. Chapter 2: Gambling Man

Chapter Two: Gambling Man

_November_

The night before Granger was due to work for him, Minerva called a staff meeting.

Severus wasn't in the mood. He'd just dragged himself from bed at eleven o'clock on Saturday morning, having been tortured for several hours for his failure to bring new information to the table. He could still feel Bellatrix straddling his chest as she carved the words "Muggle Lover" over and over again in the raw flesh of his chest with one of her beloved daggers, cackling madly as he cried out in pain-

"Severus!" Dumbledore said winningly as he drew him into the staff room. He must have been blocking the entrance for some time because Poppy, Pomona, and Sybil all scurried past him like water past a broken dam. He sneered at Pomona, who insisted on carrying her vulgar toad- what was it's name, Marvin?- everywhere with her while he was "ill". Quite frankly, Severus always thought the toad looked ill, but no matter. She gave him an angry huff and clutched her beloved amphibian a little closer.

She and Longbottom got on well for a reason.

Severus ignored the bruising sensation he felt in his back where Albus had clapped his hand against the younger man's shoulder. He swore the old codger was a sadist at heart.

Dumbledore demurred to McGonagall. Severus could swear that the old woman was positively glowing with anticipation of the staff's reactions.

"The Headmaster has graciously given _all of us_ permission to court and extend an Apprenticeship to…"She paused dramatically, "Hermione Jean Granger."

The rejoinder was instantaneous. Suddenly it was Christmas, their birthdays, and their Hogwarts Graduation all rolled into one. There was clapping and cheering on every front, exempting the dour Potions Master of course. Dumbledore raised his hand, and silence fell. "I would like to ask that whomever chooses to approach Miss Granger wait until the day the winter holidays begin to sign any documents. Until then, I hope you enjoy sparring with one another for her attention."

With that, Dumbledore left the staff room. He knew a good deal of celebrating was to be done, and he would much rather settle down in his armchair with a bowl of lemon drops and a Muggle comic book. Quite entertaining, those little pictures…

Several bottles of Firewhiskey and Butterbeer were broken out of a cupboard and passed about the room. Severus chose the sweeter of the two libations and retreated to a dark corner to brood.

He had competition.

"Transfiguration, I must say," McGonagall said from behind her hand as she guarded a belch, "has always been a particular talent of hers. I dare say I believe it to be one of her favorite courses."

_Wrong. You're so wrong._

"Well you're welcome to her," Pomona declared behind her Butterbeer. "She's an O student all around, but she lacks a passion for Herbology. I think I'll approach Albus about Apprenticing Neville Longbottom. After his Graduation, of course."

"Charms has always been one of her more passionate subject," Flitwick chimed in. "She could have given Lily Evans a run for her money, if I must say so."

Severus was glad that everyone else was distracted by their own drinks. They wouldn't notice him pulling glass out of his hand.

How dare Flitwick say such a thing? How dare they agree with him?

Over time, he had come to realize that romantically, he and Lily were doomed. He never had _that kind_ of a shot with her. His feelings had faded from the burning rejection of a spurned lover to the cold, constant thrum of a brother out for revenge. Lily had been his everything. His friend, above all else, until he had ruined everything with a thoughtless word, and he was bound to defend her honor.

Unfortunately, he would best do so by remaining silent, cursing Hermione Granger for her various…charms.

Septima was ill, but Rolanda decided to pop into the conversation after three shots of liquid courage. "I put twenty galleons on Arithmancy. Girl's got a knack for Arithmancy, if Tima's got anything to say about it."

After that the betting pool increased dramatically. By the end of the night there were five hundred galleons on the table, enough for a year's scholarship for Granger's Apprenticeship. It was split four ways, with about a hundred and twenty five galleons split evenly between Arithmancy, Transfiguration, Charms, and, surprisingly, Mediwizardry with Poppy. Apparently, Granger was a crack hand at healing charms- "healing _charms_" as Flitwick so kindly pointed out.

Bored with the turn out, Severus stood to go.

"Severus, you haven't bet on anything!" Sybil said. "I forsee a great misfortune if you do not!" Before she could go into any details, however, he had stepped forward and placed a single galleon on the top of the pile.

"One on Potions."

And he was gone.

(((HG)(SS)))

"Of course she's choosing Transfiguration, what are you on about, Severus?" Albus said over a tumbler of mead. "Why do you think I gave her six weeks with Minerva? So she would get a good feel for the subject!

"Severus, when I die, and I expect that to be soon, Minerva will become Headmistress of Hogwarts. I can't trust anyone new to take over Transfiguration. Miss Granger is the obvious choice."

"And Charms? Arithmancy? Mediwizardry?"

Albus rolled his eyes. For such a clever boy, Severus could be so thick. "Professor Flitwick and Professor Vector both have Transfiguration degrees. They can easily take over Transfiguration if Miss Granger chooses one of them. Meanwhile, Poppy is bound to retire in a year or two, and we need as many competent Mediwitches trained as possible for the upcoming battle. "

They were sitting in the Headmaster's rather opulent quarters. He did have a fetish for the unusual- clownish colors, odd baubles, questionable posters and whatnot. The Potions Master looked rather out of place among all the brightly colored knick-knacks. He was a fly caught between the glass plates of a kaleidoscope. An ugly kaleidoscope.

"Out of curiosity, were she to choose Potions-"

"She won't," Albus said with absolute certainty. Severus frowned.

"You can't see _any_ benefits?"

"No, she would be in too much danger if she were to be close to you. Also, can you see her accepting a Potion's Apprenticeship? Never mind that women are about as good at potions as they are at singing a-cappella, but why would you take on an Apprentice? You're the surly Potion's Master, are you not? It would destroy your roll."

"I see." He didn't. But screw that, since when was Albus so bigoted?

"It will all become clear, my boy," Albus smiled. Watching Severus try to reconcile an old man's ramblings with his own reason was so entertaining.

**(((HG)(SS))) EDITED**

"Severus…"

"My Lord?" Snape stepped forward from his place at Tom Riddle's right hand, kneeling before him to kiss the hem of his robes.

"Walk with me," he said. "You and I have plans to discuss. No, Bella," he continued as his mistress began to rise. "I require no other presence. I desire a private word with my favorite Potions Master."

The madwoman sank back down on her perch at the Dark Lord's throne, disappointed at the denied proximity to the one love of her life. It was unjust that that Half-blood usurper should be beloved by _her Lord_ while she took second place.

"What news from Hogwarts?"

"I have made progress, my Lord," Snape said, walking just a step behind the reptilian man. "The old man has extended an invitation to the entire staff to extend the offer of Apprenticeship to Hermione Granger, the brains of the Golden Trio."

"This is news, indeed," Voldemort said pausing to twist a rose from one of the Malfoy's prized bushes. "But how does this affect our cause? What is so important in this seemingly meaningless information that my beloved Severus Snape feels that he must inform his Lord of a Mudblood's decisions for her post-Hogwarts education?"

"My Lord, before Dumbledore deigned to give permission to the staff, the girl had already approached me to enquire about serving under myself…academically, of course." It was a running joke among the Death Eaters that he could not _perform_, because of his aversion to revels. The Dark Lord chuckled sympathetically, pitying his most trusted general for his inability to participate in the events that kept those followers more easily swayed eating from the palm of his hand. "As she sees things, Dumbledore is doing me a great disservice, leaving me alone in my task. She wishes to be of assistance to me."

"And how, pray tell, can this child be of use to our cause?"

"She has willingly offered herself as a spy. She feels that by feeding me information of Potter's movements, thoughts, and so forth, she will be preventing him from playing the hero and putting himself and other Order members in jeopardy."

"Hermione Granger is obviously enamored by your supposed allegiance to the light. Her willingness to trust you will prove useful later on. If you feel that she can be of use to her, you may extend the invitation of an Apprenticeship. Perhaps in time, you can find other uses for her…?"

Hearing the request in the Dark Lord's voice, Severus pushed memories of Hermione Granger and her request, exaggerating her pleading. Rather than the rational, well thought rhetoric she had truly performed, the Dark Lord saw a desperate schoolgirl with a morbid fear of failure.

His memories of her excellence in his classes certainly weren't fabricated. O's in everything, naturally. Images of her fanatic respect for authority and fierce affection for the underdog were true as well.

"She seems to genuinely trust you, and her talents will easily make her a Potions Mistress." The Dark Lord became pensive. "Perhaps this will be of use to us. Keep her close to you. See if you can weaken her bond to Dumbledore and the Order, perhaps gain her sympathies."

"It shall be done, my Lord."

"And how is your other project? Have you found the one you are looking for?"

Snape stiffened. He hadn't wanted this to come up, but the Dark Lord was still in his mind. A visit to another home, shuffling through hours and hours' worth of messy Muggle paperwork, only to end in disappointment.

His emotions were raw and open to exploitation by the Dark Lord, and he cursed his weakness. It was all there. Anger, weakness, pain, sadness, and the bitter taste of crushed hopes flooded his mind. These memories, these thoughts, this mission- personal, unrelated to the plans of Dumbledore or the Dark Lord- could not and would not be contained.

He asked Dumbledore three times before he finally broke down and begged Tom Riddle. Please. Please let him find her. But he was denied.

The Light, Dumbledore had said gravely, projecting not an ounce of sympathy for his spy's plight, could not afford the distraction.

But Voldemort was so understanding. He'd been more than willing to help. He'd excused Severus of all obligations to attend raids and revels that he might devote more time to his search. Dumbledore simply believed Severus had failed in some way, not quite accepting that Voldemort wanted him completely focused on Hogwarts and Order meetings. Severus was simply require to attend Sunday, Wednesday, and Friday Meeting.

The heart-wrenching dissatisfaction of another failed search swelled and expanded, infused with the sympathies of Tom Riddle.

The skeletal man stepped closer to his follower, drawing his favorite general's head to his shoulder. "Ah, my son…"

Severus clutched at the Dark Lord's robes to support himself. His breath was ragged and his legs shook. _Son_. This monster who killed hundreds, maybe thousands, called him _son_, treated him like a _son_, defended, disciplined, and praised him like a _son_.

_ Traitor…_

"We will find the one you seek, my son," he said, clutching his adopted son just as close. "We will not rest until we do. You have Lord Voldemort's support, as well as that of your brothers."

"Thank you, my Lord…"

"You will have your reward, dear Severus."

By the time Severus was in control of his emotions, he was back in his rooms at Hogwarts. He had ten minutes before Albus came looking for him.

Because all that mattered was that he'd gotten or given pertinent information.

It was alright for Albus Dumbledore to gamble his life.

**Author's Note: Yep, it's a short one. No worries, I will definitely revisit this chapter later on. The next one will be longer, I promise! R-and-R, please!**

**Author's Note 2: I have added onto this chapter, realizing that while we know how Dumbledore feels about Hermione's Apprenticeship, we aren't sure about Voldemort. I warn you now, there will me a lot of Dumbledore, Weasleys-as-a-group, and Order-in-general bashing. I think that the "good" just came out too good and "evil" never really got a say in the original books. If you don't like, don't read. **

**To those of you who have added me as a favorite, or are following my stories, thank you! Your support and appreciation are what keep me going, and I hereby dedicate the next chapter to you!**

**Cake for everyone! **


	4. Chapter 3: Auditions

Chapter Three: Auditions

Hermione rose before the sun Monday morning. She took a minute to look in the oval mirror adjacent to her bed, looking for any differences since yesterday morning.

This had become a habit of hers. How could the changes she felt not manifest physically? Why had the stress and worry of the war not pinched and warped her features? Why was her hair devoid of gray? But then again, Professor Snape didn't have a single strand of silver in his hair and his problems were so much greater than her own. Why was she thinking of him first thing in the morning anyway? Oh! She had her "audition" today.

Pushing all unpleasant thoughts from her head, Hermione went about her normal routine. The scrap of parchment Professor Snape had sent his missive on ordered her to be in his office at eight o'clock. It was only five thirty now.

After her shower, Hermione was faced with the dilemma which has plagued women for centuries: what in the hell was she going to wear?

She usually laid out her clothes every night. Last night she had decided to pick it out in the morning, set the mood for the day.

Grinning, she settled on a Slytherin-green A-line dress. It couldn't hurt to suck up a bit, could it? She accented it with gold jewelry- a necklace made of gold leaves, a thick cuff bracelet, and chandelier earrings- and a set of plain black robes that tied conveniently at the narrowest part of her waist.

Charming her thankfully not bushy, not frizzy, not awful hair into a braided crown, she dabbled with the idea of putting on makeup, something she had only started doing this past year. Before, she hadn't cared how she looked. Now she wanted to seem…adult. Mature.

And beautiful. Oh, how she wished she were beautiful. But there was no use in wishing for a purple sky, as her grandmother used to say. Grandma Jean hadn't been pretty either and held no sympathy for her distraught granddaughter when she came home from the bullies at primary school.

A modest amount of cosmetics couldn't hurt, and a light adhering charm would ensure that none of the makeup would interfere with the potions she would hopefully be surrounded by today.

Lacing her black heeled boots up to her knee, Hermione gave herself one last glance in the mirror. How Ron and Harry would be astounded to see her dressing up for Snape!

Come to think of it, why was she making an effort at all to look pretty for him? Wait, nonsense, this wasn't for him, it was for her…

(((HG)(SS)))

Breakfast was odd. Why were all of the teachers staring at her? Dumbledore and McGonagall were constantly twittering to one another and glancing her way, smiling whenever they caught her eye. Professor Flitwick was winking (all though with the rapid repetitiveness of the action, he could have been experiencing a stress induced facial tick) and Madame Pomfrey was giving her a little finger wave. Hooch and Vector seemed to be agreeing on something, and apparently that something had to do with her.

Snape was nowhere to be seen. Therefore, he was the best person to explain everything to her.

Ron finally snapped his fingers in front of Hermione's face. He'd been trying to get her attention for several minutes now, but all she was doing was staring at her food and avoiding looking at the head table.

"You alright, Mione?" He asked. "You're acting all funny."

"The teachers are putting me on edge with all their staring," she replied, wincing at the nickname. The very reason for her dislike of the appellation swaggered behind her on his way to speak with Flitwick about a possible Apprenticeship.

"Well if it isn't Potty, Weasel, and Whiney," Malfoy sneered. Hermione grimaced. "Enjoying your meal? You might want to bulk up Weasley, you never know when you'll eat again once you head home, do you?"

"Shut up, Ferret," Ron snarled. "You're ruining my appetite."

"And that's saying something, is it?"

"Stop it, both of you." Hermione resolutely looked at neither of them. "Do I have to remind you that I can take points from either house?"

Malfoy stalked off with a sneer, not wanting to bait the Mudblood and her pathetic pack of losers too early in the day. He needed something to look forward to.

The rest of breakfast was uneventful, until Hermione stood to go to the dungeons.

"Miss Granger!" Madame Pomfrey bustled up to Hermione, looking, for lack of a better word, sly. She glanced back at Madame Hooch and Professor Vector, seeming to give them some form of nonverbal communication. The two other women snickered and giggled like ten-year-olds about to play a prank.

"Can I help you, Madame Pomfrey?"

"Oh, please dear, call me Poppy." Hermione blinked. "I just wanted to wish you luck on your first day with Professor Snape."

"You're working with SNAPE?" Ron squealed, drawing half the Great Hall's attention.

"No Ronald, I just told you that I was going to work with him until the end of the year no less than twelve times in the last three days for giggles. Yes, I'm working with Professor Snape!" Hermione growled.

"Well!" Madame Pomfrey drew Hermione's attention back to her. "Just let me know if you need an escape route, dear! I'll be more than happy to let you hide out in the infirmary."

Hermione frowned. She didn't want people thinking she needed an escape route. No one had offered her an escape route with Trewalney, so why would she want one with the Potions Master?

"I'm sure I'll be fine with Professor Snape, _Madame Pomfrey_," she said coldly, her words slipping out of her plastered-on smile. "In fact, I can't wait to get started. I'll see you around, will I?" And with that, she flounced out of the Hall, not caring if she'd shocked the old matron.

When she finally made it down to the dungeons, she was fuming. She'd had enough time to get from breakfast to the potions classroom to work herself into a tizzy. How dare they? _That _ was what this was all about- the staring, and the giggling, and the whispering among the teachers like a bunch of jumped-up third years! They were going to sabotage her "audition" for the Professor! Granted, they probably thought they were helping her, but it still rankled her that no one was willing to help her out with Trewalney, whom she openly disliked, but assumed she wanted to get away from the Professor based solely on the wretched stigma attached to him was ridiculously unfair!

Hermione stomped- sort of, she was in heels after all- into the Potions room in a right state. Snape gave her he once over and a smirk. "Who?"

"Madame Pomfrey, of all people!" She growled, waving her hands about as she was wont to do whenever she was upset. "Oh, they let me rot with Trewalney for a damned week, but then I come to work for you and it's a pity party for me! God forbid I be locked way in the dungeons!"

"Oh, yes, the injustice of it all," he growled. Snape didn't understand why she was surprised. She must have accounted for the reactions of others. If this was how she was reacting before anything was even signed, how would she react when they saw her traipsing after him in the halls next semester like his damned shadow? "Now is probably a good time to tell you about the bet."

"Oh, God, is there a pool on how long they think I can last in here? I hope you make a killing." Miss Granger huffed in the most unladylike way imaginable.

"Worse." He sat back in his leather chair and smirked. "They've started a pool on who you will sing for an Apprenticeship. The Headmaster has extended his permission for the entire staff to tender an Apprenticeship towards you."

"All to cover for my signing you on?" She frowned. "That seems a bit extreme."

"Oh, I was unable to discuss your theoretical Apprenticeship until after the fact. He came up with this on all on his own."

"What exactly did he say?" She searched his face, which was suddenly impassive. "He didn't like it did he? Don't lie, I can see it in your eyes."

Snape frowned. How did she know he was omitting details. "The Headmaster is of the more archaic view that Potions is taught by Potions _Masters_ for a reason." He watched her eyes widen and her cheeks stain red with indignation. Then, to his horror, those wide amber eyes pooled with tears. "He has his heart set on you becoming the next Transfiguration teacher. If you choose Charms or Arithmancy, Flitwick and Vector both have degrees in Transfiguration and can take over anyway. Should you Apprentice yourself to Poppy, you will be the schools new Mediwitch."

"But I can't get a degree in Potions because I'm a girl?" She gasped. Snape caught the hitch in her voice, a sure sign of tears to come. "I thought that of all people, he'd be pleased that I'd be taking on such a challenge."

"Unfortunately, Dumbledore was raised in a Pureblood home. Gender roles still play heavily there."

"I'm not going to become a teacher, no matter what." Hermione slumped into a chair, feeling a tear slip out from under her closed lids. "I've nearly outgrown Hogwarts. I can't be here much longer. And I don't want to be unmarried and get attached to children I can't keep. And I don't want to feel like I'm not living up to what the last teacher's standards were, and I don't want to pushed into a corner to do something I don't want to do just because everyone thinks I should. And-and- and-"

Snape suddenly found himself standing next to her chair, his hand resting on her head as she sobbed into her arms. Thank God he had a free period on Monday mornings.

He understood. He understood better than any of the other teachers possibly could. They chose this life. Dumbledore chose Snape's for him. He had fantasies similar to Miss Grangers.

"When I was seventeen, I was in love," he said quietly. "Don't look so shocked, Miss Granger, it can and did happen."

"I know. Sorry. I was just surprised that you would want to tell me this."

"Quite." And it was. He didn't understand himself.

"I loved her very much. I wanted to marry her, but she chose the very man who bullied me through school. By then, I had lost my mother, been abandoned by my father, and joined the Death Eaters. I was lost," he took a breath. "Then I found out she was in danger. I went to Dumbledore, asking him to protect her…even if it meant protecting her pig of a husband. He offered me an ultimatum. I had to make an Unbreakable Vow, and I had to answer to him and Moody under Veritaserum. I had to spy for the Order until the Dark Lord was vanquished for good. When he was destroyed the first time, I thought I was free. I thought I was free to live where and as I pleased, and to find happiness again. But the Vow still had a compulsory hold on me. I couldn't break the cover of Potions Master that Dumbledore had so carefully construed. I couldn't leave Hogwarts grounds without his express permission, and I couldn't say a word about the Death Eaters or the Order unless he was present. He wasn't completely gone."

"How are you telling me this, then?" She asked. "If you can tell me this, how does the bond still hold?"

"He made stipulations about conversing with Order members and the Dark Lord and his followers. You are an Order member, therefore I can tell you my story."

She was silent. He waited for her ridicule, or at the very least her indifference. Maybe she would be annoyed at his trying to sympathize with her, or his bumbling storytelling skills, but she didn't seem to be. If anything, she seemed contemplative.

"What did you want to do?"

"I wanted to own an Apothecary. Maybe a bookstore. I just wanted to be surrounded by the two things I love: potions and knowledge."

"Well, don't throw in the towel, yet; it'd be a shame for you to get all morose now and win tomorrow." She sat up drying her eyes. Her makeup must have been charmed. Aside from some puffiness around her eyes, she didn't look as though she'd been crying in the least. "I fully intend to see you through this war. To Hell with anyone else's plans."

"And if I have no wish to live?" He snarled.

The slap resounded through the room. It echoed off the walls. It bounded off of the desks, chairs, the blackboard, and the shelves. It rang off of the jars of ingredients and the pewter cauldrons. It burned their skin.

Snape stood immobile, his head cocked at the sharp angle the slap had forced it. She slapped him. The witch had slapped him. And he was ashamed. Why? Because she slapped him, or why she slapped him?

"Don't you _dare_ think or say that ever again, Severus Snape," she growled. She was fighting tears yet again. "Your life is worth living. You deserve to be free of masters and you deserve to be able to pursue happiness. Do you understand me? _You. Deserve. To. Live…You. Deserve. To. Be. Happy._"

He didn't know what to say. He didn't have a chance to say anything, anyway, for by the time he was able to mutter a garbled "thank you" under his breath, regardless of not understanding what he was thanking her for, she was crossing the room to stand in front of his desk. He watched, dumbfounded, as she began to unpack several materials from a small beaded bag that could not possibly hold as much as she was pulling out without the aid of magic. He watched as she pulled a sheaf of clean parchment, a self-inking quill, and a single parchment with what appeared to be a list of questions written upon it in her small, neat cursive.

"Professor Dumbledore has asked that I sit through your first day of classes and just observe. I thought up some questions so I know what to look for. I won't interrupt or ask you any questions," she looked at him square on, "but if any of the other professors try to pull me away, I want you to lie and say that I'm doing some paperwork for you. I don't want to be pulled away any sooner than I need to be."

They puttered about for the better part of an hour. Hermione busied herself alphabetizing papers to be passed back, while Snape glanced over his lesson plans, tailoring them and making allowances for the separate classes.

Neither spoke of their previous conversation.

(((HG)(SS)))

"Well, Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked up from her perch on his leather chair. He never sat in front of his students unless he was grading papers, and he had no papers to grade as it was the beginning of the week. Between classes he had gone to his office for a few minutes, and he had allowed himself to sit down for a little while. But from nine until three o'clock, his black leather chair was occupied by the Golden Girl.

She was right. Vector and McGonagall had tried to get her away from her work, but Snape had intervened. If Trewalney could have free labor for an uninterrupted week, then why couldn't he? Aside from those instances, and the occasional stares of younger boys distracting them from their work, the classes had gone rather well.

"I noticed."

"Noticed what, Miss Granger?"

"I noticed everything," she said calmly, looking up from her paper. "I noticed that you only called on Mary Greene to answer questions that you'd asked verbally. I noticed that you tried to stop students from making mistakes rather than letting them fail. I noticed all of your veiled compliments and your outright criticism and your hidden wit. I noticed _you_, Sir, and though you may not like doing it and you may not think you are good at it, I noticed that you are a truly wonderful teacher."

Snape basked in her smile for a moment. Did people actually _bask_? He didn't know it was an action, he rather thought that it was a verbal and written synonym for preening and attentions seeking. But he was doing it. He allowed himself three seconds to soak in her smile- the warmth, the comfort, the undisguised affection- and then looked away.

"I'm glad you think so, Miss Granger, for if we are to make any kind of progress, you are going to have to learn, and I am the one you will be learning from.

Hermione stood and took her papers to the waste bin. A simple _incinerate _and the papers were ashes. "I didn't learn anything I didn't already know. God forbid Harry and Ron come across those notes and discover that you are a good man. Although why they don't already see it is beyond me."

"You are dismissed for the day, Miss Granger. I'm sure you have several other priorities to be met- ruffled feathers to soothe, knickers to untwist among the faculty and such."

She giggled. _Giggled_. Nobody giggled at something said by the dreaded Severus Snape. But she did.

"I'll come back tomorrow around the same time, shall I?"

"Yes," was all he could reply.

She slipped out the door and he settled back into his seat. It still held the residual warmth of her body, and her scent lingered faintly. He couldn't quite name it.

Then it got stronger. It was lavender, and strong tea, and honey, and old parchment.

He opened his eyes and she was standing next to him again. The candle light of the room glinted off of her gold jewelry, and made her eyes look large and luminous. She leaned forward, getting ever closer to his face. He couldn't speak. He couldn't swallow. He couldn't even blink.

"James Potter did not deserve Lily Evans, Severus Snape," she whispered close to his ear. He could feel her lips brushing the shell of his ear with a feather light touch. It sent lightning singing down his neck. "But I'm not sure Lily Evans deserved you."

He gasped inwardly, though he made no physical sound, and stared at her. She took his face in both of her hands. "You deserve to live, Severus Snape. You are worthy of honor, and happiness, and love. And I am very, very proud of you." She pressed a kiss to his brow, allowing her lips to linger on his forehead.

When she left, she did not see him close his eyes.

He did not see her press her fingers to her lips as she hurried away.

**Author's Note: Hey, sorry it took so long to post again. I hit about four hiccups writing this chapter, because I wanted it to be JUST RIGHT for you guys. I hope you guys enjoy it, and I'll try to update more often, maybe every week and a half or so. Thank you to those who are following my story or have added me as a favorite! 10 points Gryffindor, and cookies for everyone!**


	5. Chapter 4: Tea and Company (M)

Chapter Five: Tea and Company (M)

**Warning: this chapter contains sexual content. Though I am sure that is why you chose this story in the first place, as it is rated M, I feel it is only fair to warn you. Any chapters containing smut, or lemons, or what-have-you will be marked with an (M) for mature content. If it comes in a later part of the chapter, I'll try to mark it by bolding the page break- (((HG)(SS))) and the beginning and end phrases to the interlude. Take pity on me- this is my first time writing anything remotely sexual. This time it's just a wank, so how hard can it be? (Ha! Innuendo…). –G.G.**

Severus was at a loss.

He was in Hermione Granger's sitting room, and he had no idea how he got there.

Hermione…

Granger's…

Sitting room…

Things like this didn't just happen to him. Where had he gone wrong? Why was the bloody Gryffindor Princess inviting him into her sitting room? He did once nice thing- _just one!_- and his persona of the surly Potions Master was irreparably destroyed.

It took them all of three days after that Monday to assume a pattern. Miss Granger would dance into the classroom (couldn't the girl ever just _walk_?)and set herself up at a small desk in the corner, where she would grade papers according to his regulations for the first part of the morning. Then she would do whatever menial task he set her to without complaint. It was a terrible waste of her talents, he knew, but dragon gizzards didn't flay themselves. They continued on this way until lunch, which they ate in his office to discuss the morning. He would never admit it, but he enjoyed having her to talk to during the meal. One could only take so much of the other Professors' blather.

On Tuesday and Thursday, when he had Gryffindor seventh years, he allowed her to work in his office. They had agreed that seeing Potter and Weasley would be a distraction for her. He had been forced to put up with their jibes about locking her away in a torture chamber, docked points, and didn't really do anything else. Class went on as normal. At three o'clock, they parted ways, nodded to one another at dinner from across the Hall, and didn't speak again until class the next morning.

But Friday afternoon, they changed the game plan.

It started when they got into an argument. Not a screaming contest, and it wasn't over a serious topic. It was a debate if anything else.

But they couldn't stop talking. And talking. And talking.

It was academic, of course. The correlation between Charms work and Potions. Miss Granger was saying that Potions would not be the same without a bit of "foolish wand waving" and he was taking the defensive, saying that Potions could do with a bit less Charms-work and a little more inventiveness on the Potioneer's front. They both agreed with the other but were enjoying themselves too much to admit defeat. Neither, of course, would admit to that.

Somehow, this lead to them arguing all the way up to her suite. As staff assistant, she had her own set of rooms, synonymous to a flat, very similar to the Head Girl's in size, but more personal in décor. He didn't mean to walk her up, he was simply trying to get her to concede to the point. But when she was nearly out the door of his classroom, he suddenly found himself offering her his arm. Her little hand fit perfectly in the crook of his elbow, and she smiled up at him in a way that made his breath hitch for a moment. They were oblivious to the stares of the students. The Golden Girl and the Greasy Git, walking and talking? Touching? Smiling (or smirking, of Severus's part)?

And that was when she invited him in for tea.

Tea.

In Hermione Granger's sitting room.

What was the world coming to that he, Severus Snape, formerly known as Snivellus, ex Death Eater, spy of the Light, snarky bastard extraordinaire, the greasy git, bat of the dungeons, was perched precariously on the edge of her couch, mug in hand, gazing about her chambers as she search the shelves in her kitchen for some biscuits, chattering all the while.

They were very….Granger-like, her rooms. Granger-esque. They were feminine, but not overpoweringly so. Her walls were a beautiful teal, and the crown moulding was painted snow white. Her floors and furniture were oak wood, providing a beautiful contrast to the lightness of the room. Her couch as well as the two armchairs in the room (why had he set on the couch, and not an armchair?) were the same snow white as the moulding, and he could feel the thrum of magic coming off of them that belied the anti-staining charms placed on them. Over the back of the couch was a plum colored blanket, and there were pillows on the couch and in the chairs in marigold, teal, and plum. How she managed to make those colors work was beyond him. And everywhere, in stacks, on shelves, lined against the wall on the floor, on the mantle, on the coffee table, were books. Hundreds of books.

He was holding a yellow mug. _A yellow mug_. Who could say that they had gotten Severus Snape to drink tea- peppermint tea, he might add- from a sunflower yellow mug?

He looked towards the kitchen, blaming the witch inside for his indignation. Of course Hermione Bleeding-Heart Granger could.

She had hung her robes in the closet just inside the door once they came in and insisted that he do the same. He was sitting in her teal room on her white couch drinking from a yellow mug of peppermint tea in nothing but his shirt and vest. Yes. She had robbed him of his frock coat as well.

She was now standing on her tiptoes searching a high shelf for some kind of biscuits she called "pirouettes." When had she taken off her shoes? She was wearing a sapphire dress, empire waist, with long sleeves. Her hair was in the braided crown she seemed to favor this year and knotted in a twist at the back of her head, held by two silver combs. She wore black stockings and seemed completely at ease as she argued…what was she saying?

He was completely distracted by the way the light from the window hit her face. The way it highlighted every contour of her body.

"Professor?"

Snape shook himself. "What?" He barked. He didn't mean to. He was just angry at himself for perusing her form like that. He felt like the worst sort of lecher.

She gave him a bemused smile and held up two tall, round tins. "Chocolate or vanilla?"

"Vanilla," he said. She reached up to put the chocolate back up on the shelf. The action pulled up her dress a bit, and he caught a glimpse of the skin above where her stockings ended. He tried not to stare at her legs…or her hips…or, God forbid, her breasts (where did those come from?)…as she sashayed towards him.

"Pirouettes," he discovered, were tubular wafer cookies filled with a flavored cream. They were quite good, dipped in tea.

As long as he didn't look directly at anything important, conversation was possible. He tended to look at her eyebrow, or her temple, or her pert little nose, but looking at her ochre eyes or pouting lips was dangerous. There were several moments when his voice cracked like an adolescent boy's. She was kind enough not to comment, and simply poured him some more tea with just the right amount of sugar.

They finally agree to disagree, but secretly really agree, with one another, and settled into an uncomfortably comfortable silence.

The entire arrangement was simply full of contradictions.

Hermione, for her part, was taking guilty pleasure in the man's disquiet. Then again, how many people in his lonely life had taken him in for tea? Who could keep up with him in a Potions debate aside from the Headmaster? She'd had enough trouble waiting for people to catch up in her short eighteen years of life. She couldn't imagine what it was like for him in the thirty-eight he'd been forced to contend with. Oh, he had the other Professors, but he was ostracized by even them. She knew it. She could see it in the way they interacted at the High Table. He sat at the end, alone, only speaking with Professor Flitwick on occasion. Aside from Professor McGonagall's occasional sisterly teasing and Madame Pomfrey's demands that he improve his diet, nothing much was said to the surly Potions Master.

"I'm glad you came in, Professor. You're good company," she said sincerely. She tried not to giggle at his wide eyes. "I mean it, Professor Snape. I do like talking with you and working with you."

"Likewise," was all he said, but it sparked something in Hermione. It was probably as close as he would come to say he enjoyed spending time with her, but she would take it over nothing. She felt…hope.

But for what?

"Thank you, Miss Granger," he said standing, putting his yellow mug on the oak coffee table, "for the tea and the…company. I shall see you at eight o'clock tomorrow morning. Please wear something sensible as we will be taking the younger years out to the edge of the lake to look for algae."

"Yes, sir," she said, putting her own purple mug down on the table. She supposed the comfortable moments were over. She looked at the grandmother clock in the corner and was surprised to find that it was nearly seven o'clock. They'd been holed away in her rooms for the last four hours! "Goodness, we lost track of time!"

"What?" The Professor gave the clock a cursory glance, then did a double take. "Oh. My apologies, Miss Granger, for intruding on your hospitality for so long."

"No, it's my fault. I've kept you from your work. I'm so terribly sorry."

They stood awkwardly at the closet, his frock coat only half buttoned, each looking guiltily at one another as well as the clock. Finally Hermione, unsure of why, boldly reached up and finished buttoning his frock coat, her knuckles ghosting down his stomach as she coaxed the dozen or so buttons through their respective buttonholes, and then did the same for his wrists. When she finished, she reached up and straightened his collar, running her hands over his lapels to make them lie flat. Satisfied she went to move away from him, but his hands grasped her wrists, keeping her palms flat against his chest. Hermione looked up at his face and saw that his eyes were closed. They stayed like that for several minutes, until the grandmother clock chimed seven, breaking her trance, but not his.

She brushed her fingers back and forth against his chest until he seemed to wake up. He stared at her, dazed for a moment, before finally dropping her wrists and leaning back against the wall next to the closet, staring at her unseeingly. Hermione reached into the closet and took his black teaching robes from their hanger. He took his cue and allowed her to slip his robes onto his arms and to fasten the buttons down the front, staring at her face with intense concentration.

She silently rejoiced that he allowed her to do this small thing for him. Behind his mask, he relished in her trust and care.

Both remained silent.

And then he was gone.

**(((HG)(SS)))**

The Thursday before her audition was to end, he was in a foul, _foul_ mood.

Miss Granger had been unavailable for tea on Wednesday. McGonagall had waltzed into his classroom in the middle of a lesson and boldly told the girl that she was expected at three thirty in the Headmaster's office for tea. Miss Granger had apologized profusely, obviously dreading the visit and what it might entail, and promising to make it up to him. As if it could be anything but her Apprenticeship…

He had wanted to thunder that it was no concern of hers who he had tea with, and how dare she assume that he needed her. Just because they'd had tea every day since that first Thursday did not mean that it was a habit. It was a courtesy on his part, he was keeping her wits sharp. And that didn't make them friends. They most certainly _were not_ friends. Friends didn't debate academia, or sit in silence when it suited them. They chatted about inane frivolities and told each other non-secrets and were highly emotional around one another. Friends did not have the ability to just _be_, like he and Miss Granger did, on chilly evenings before her fire. Friends were never still, friends were never quiet.

Friends did not haunt one another's dreams.

Hermione Granger was in his head.

_Hermione Granger was IN HIS HEAD__**.**_

It was her fault, her and her damned hands. What did she think she was doing, touching him like that? And not just the once! There was the kiss on his forehead, first and foremost. Then there was the incident with her buttoning his frock coat and his robes. He should never have allowed it! Whenever he dressed in the morning or undressed at night, he couldn't help but feel her phantom fingers dancing over his flesh. It was reinforced by how she repeated the action every day at tea.

It was the worst at night. She truly was in his dreams. He remembered a time when Lily Evans had haunted his dreams so, but then he was a sex-crazed adolescent boy. Now he was a grown man, with half a dozen lovers under his belt. He knew what he liked and he knew what women liked. And that made the dreams a thousand times worse.

**It started the same way every night. **

They were in his private lab. In his dreams, Hermione silently left a stool from the middle of the room and came to remove his robes. Then his frock coat. When she reached his after having unbuttoned his sleeves, she kissed his palms and his wrists, laving at his fingers as she caressed the back of his hand. Then his vest was gone. She untucked his shirt and began unbuttoning it, starting at his throat. She unbuttoned it, but didn't remove it. She knew he didn't want her to see his back, evidence of his sins. She simply left it open, hanging from his shoulders.

He sat back in the overstuffed armchair that he kept in the room for when he needed a break. She came to stand before him, then moved to straddle him. He looked at what she was wearing for the first time. It was a nightgown and dressing gown. It was white, gossamer. She looked, in short, angelic. Her hair was down about her shoulders, something he had only seen once or twice in the last six months. She hiked her skirt up her thighs as she placed her knees on either side of his hips. Sitting back on his knees, she fiddled with the ribbons tying her dressing gown closed. Slowly, so slowly it was painful, she untied the ribbon and let the sheer robe slide slowly from her shoulders. Then she was rocking up to stand on her knees, her breasts level with his eyes. She took his face in her hands and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

She moved down, kissing his eyelids, his cheeks, the bridge and the tip of his nose, his chin. She kissed his throat, swirling her fingers in the indents behind his ears. She kissed the dip in his collar bone and sucked at the flesh. Hermione slid from his lap, running her light hands down his chest. She didn't seem to mind that he was skinny and not well muscled. She seemed to desire him anyway.

She was kneeling on the floor, her hands at his belt buckle. The offending item was quickly removed. She kneaded his thighs, looking up at him adoringly. She poked her index fingers in the waistband of his trousers, nuzzling her face in his groin, prodding him with her nose. He groaned at the friction and again at her smile. She unbuttoned his trousers and stroked him through his boxers staring up into his eyes with pure, unadulterated lust. He writhed under her hands, bucking up into them. He lifted his hips, allowing her to shrug his pants and boxers down around his ankles. It was a humiliating necessity, but he didn't care.

The look on her face was pure desire. Her hands were greedy, running up and down his length, fondling his sac, and finally, oh, finally, those pouting lips closed over his tip and her tongue swirled around him and everything was _her_, and her scent and peppermint tea and lavender and her pink tongue and her smiling mouth and her, _yes_, her unruly hair knotted around his fingers and, _oh Merlin, _her wandering little hands so soft and strong and _sweet Salazar, _and he watched as, no, was she, yes, one hand slipped beneath her nightgown between her legs, and she groaned, and he groaned, and her eyes her eyes her Firewhiskey eyes staring up at him full of-

He started awake just as he ejaculated into his sheets, her name echoing off the walls as he went soft in his own hands.

**Damn her.**

And where was she now? It was half past eight. He already had a class in the room. The last two weeks, realizing that he was returning from a late night, she had put a vial each of headache relief potion and muscle relaxant on his desk, and had brought him a cup of strong black coffee at mid-morning.

He tried to shrug the feeling of abandonment off of his shoulders. She was simply late. Or not well. No, she was late, he would rather her be late than unwell, but that didn't change the fact that she wasn't in the classroom where she ought to have been.

He was antsy (Severus Snape, antsy. What was the world coming to?), and he took it out on his students. He generally tried to save his ire for the bloody Gryffindors, but that day the loss of points was astronomical across all four houses, including Slytherin.

He hadn't gone to breakfast, as he was fantasizing about the inevitable tea and toast she would have waiting for him, as had become her habit whenever she noticed he wasn't at breakfast. By lunchtime he was ravenous, and was halfway through his soup and salad before he realized that a certain chestnut head of curls was missing. Then he began to worry, and a worried Snape was not a Snape anyone wanted to meet.

He was preoccupied for the rest of the day, anxiously awaiting three o'clock with bated breath. Did people actually do that? _Await_ with _bated breath_? Apparently so, because that was what he was doing.

At five minutes to three, he couldn't stand it.

"OUT!" He bellowed. The students didn't need to be told twice. They hastily put away their remaining ingredients and supplies and fled the room.

He was fuming. He was anxious. He was incredibly, terribly lonely for Hermione Granger.

That was the base of all his problems, wasn't it?

He wasn't a solitary creature by nature. If he were physically, mentally, emotionally capable of being alone, he wouldn't have clung to Lily Evans like he did, or joined the Death Eaters when he'd fucked that up, and he most certainly wouldn't be- _wince_- pining for his Apprentice-to-be.

Incensed now, he finally hauled ass upstairs.

He would deal with this once and for all. How dare she ingrain herself in his life so? She couldn't just haunt his dreams every night and then miss a day in his service! And, _oh, what he would like her to do in his service._

_ NO! Stop! Bad Potions Master, bad!_

Snape was deducting points left and right as he stormed up to the fourth floor, where her rooms were. As he rounded the corner, he heard the Dunderheaded Duo and ducked into an alcove, waiting to pounce on them and deduct a disgraceful amount of points.

"Did you hear her crying?"

Well _that_ certainly got his attention.

"Was she? I couldn't hear her through the door, she wouldn't open up." _The Boy Who Lived to be a Pain in the Ass…_

"No, I'm pretty sure I heard her. It started right after she screamed at us to go away." _His Ginger Menace…_

"That was crying? I thought she was choking."

"What was she rambling about?"

"All I caught was 'parents,' 'disappointment,' and 'useless.'"

"Pf. Probably freaking out over an overdue library book. You know how she gets."

"Better mark the day on our calendars, yeah?"

"Stupid bint. You notice how stuck up she is lately? All this rubbish about helping out the professors. Now I didn't mind it when she was helping out Pomfrey or Hagrid. That was just an excuse to hang out. But now-"

"Now all she's got time for is Snape, I know. Greasy Git, probably running her into the ground, he is…"

Severus waited for them to pass. Frozen. Unable to move.

Hermione Granger, crying?

He couldn't get it through his mind.

Hermione Granger's face was not made for tears. She certainly wasn't made for the two buffoons she called _friends_ to whinge about her behind her back like a couple of disgruntled…well, they were disgruntled schoolboys weren't they? And totally unworthy of her to boot.

_Oh, and _you're_ worthier than they, oh scarred one_? His mind asked.

But he ignored it. All he knew was that his Apprentice was in her room, his second sanctuary, crying. And that was forbidden.

Not caring if anyone saw him, he took off at a run, not slowing his pace until he saw the portrait of the Shepardess in his view.

It was quiet inside. Much too quiet. There was no way Granger had calmed down from her hysterics, if Weasley and Potter were to be believed.

"Arbutus," said, and slipped inside.

**Author's Note: Okay, first real smattering of M-content. Hope you didn't find it too terrible. R/R please! Also, interesting note, Arbutus is a flower symbolizing welcome, hospitality, and new beginnings. I found it highly appropriate for Hermione's password. Any suggestions for Severus's? Please don't use lily. **_**Please**_ **don't use lily, or any variation of it. Next chapter will be about Hermione's apparent breakdown. How can she help Severus if she can't hold herself together? Let's find out!**


	6. Chapter 5: Scent (M)

Chapter Five: Scent (M)

**Sorry, forgot to clarify the month in the last one! It's December, heck it's been December, of seventh year. **

**Also, the language gets a little stronger in this chapter, so if the F-bomb offends you , try to ignore it. I can't mark every bad word. I have the funny feeling that if I bold it, you'll be forced to read it…**

**Shout out to K8-Amelia for letting me use her name! Amelia has always been one of my favorite names, and I totes love her for it! Ciao, belles!**

_December_

The moment the door was open he was assaulted by the worst sound in the world: Hermione Granger in tears.

She was a mess. She had apparently flung herself down on the couch yesterday and not moved since, because she was still wearing the same clothes. She was sobbing huge, shuddering, chocking sobs and her entire body was wracked with them. Her face was buried in the cushions and her arms were flung up over her head like she was expecting a blow. And that frightened him. Her posture indicated that not only was she in distress, but she feared some kind of backlash from it.

He didn't say anything. He simply closed the portrait way and reinforced her _Silencio _with his own. He wasn't quiet as he hung up his own robes and frock coat, hoping that the excessive noise he was making would roust her out of her hysteria.

She remained as she was, inconsolable.

Now he was beginning to panic.

Unable to resist any longer, and he had tried so very hard, Snape crossed the room in two strides to come around to where she lay on the couch. He didn't ask her permission, or acknowledge her in any way. He simply picked her up off of the couch. Her reaction was equally hysterical- a high keen escaped her throat and she tried to bat him away. When she gave up the struggle, she clung to him like a lifeline.

There were two doors. One led to her bathroom, which he'd used before, so no need to guess, and the other to her bedroom. He felt he was invading her privacy, but he pushed that thought down as concern for her welfare took over. She was distressing herself to a point of illness. He could feel the fever rolling off her body. Her voice was hoarse, and he knew that if he tried to stand her up that her legs would buckle underneath her.

A whispered spell pulled the covers back on her bed, and he laid her down on the cool sheets. Her eyes did not open as she curled into a fetal position and continued to howl.

The damned Weasel and his scarred puppeteer had left her in this condition. How dare they? When the password didn't work, they should have bombed the door.

Miss Granger curled on her side, facing away from him. He reached down to help remove her boots, careful to avoid her sharp heels. He magicked away her stockings, as well as the tawny robes she'd been wearing, leaving her in only a thin yellow dress that clung to her sweat bathed body. She was so out of it that she didn't even protest to the frigid cooling charm he subjected her to, simply crying out in alarm and quieting a bit as her body reacted to the shock of the cold.

"Nutt!" He called. In an instant the wrinkled old house elf with a walnut-like face (wearing what appeared to be a child's kilt) popped in front of him. "Go to my private stores and retrieve two vials of Calming Draught and a single vial of Dreamless Sleep. Quickly now!"

"Yes, Potions Master!" With a pop the old elf was gone and in a moment he had returned.

Severus managed to sit the girl up enough to pour the vials one by one down her throat, massaging her trachea to coax her to swallow.

Never had Severus known such apprehension. What had happened to turn this strong, vibrant young woman into such a mess? Miss Granger held his hands in a vise-like grip, much quieter, but still shaking convulsively. At a loss, unable to think of another solution (and he was a wizard, dammit), Snape toed off his boots and lay on her bed. Immediately, as though it were instinct, desperation, and sheer need rolled into one shared thought, they curled around each other.

Severus contained his curiosity and his anxiety until he felt her still next to him. After five minutes of even breathing and no movement on her part, he ascertained that she was finally, _finally_ asleep.

Gingerly disentangling her from his person, he rose and tucked the blankets around her still form. He watched as she pulled a pillow towards her like it was a warm body to hold. On any other day, this would have made him laugh.

Severus entered the parlor, using his keen eyesight to find the offending article or object which had upset his Miss Granger so. He was doing a scan of the fireplace when he saw it, just inches from the flames. A wadded up letter.

Smoothing it out, preparing himself for the worst and knowing that any emotional fortifications he had would probably crumble momentarily, he began to read:

_Hermione Jean,_

_Your mother and I were very disappointed when we received a letter from your Transfiguration teacher saying that we needed to give you a push in that direction. Apparently, she is under the impression that you will be returning to that blasted school next autumn for an Apprenticeship of some kind. We were very clear with you, Hermione, that once you graduate, all of this magical foolishness was to be put aside. You are going to become an orthodontist. You will do an internship at the family practice and then you will train under your mother and I. There is to be no more discussion._

_And another thing. Your teacher did not fail to mention that you have, and I quote, "blossomed into quite a beautiful young woman." I can't help but think that you are dressing immodestly for even a female teacher to notice. Vanity is a sin, Hermione Jean, as are pride and licentiousness. Not to mention witchcraft. Your mother is extremely distressed in regards to the state of your soul. _

_I won't have a useless daughter who can't do anything but pull flowers out of her sleeve and get herself hurt. You've disappointed me, Hermione Jean. _

_I expected better of you._

_Dad._

Severus hadn't felt rage this potent in a long time. The last time he was this angry he'd destroyed half of his office.

Minerva McGonagall was going to regret the day she was born. She'd gone and interfered with everything, and on top of that, she'd resorted to _Slytherin tactics_. Well, the fact that her little plan had blown up in her face was proof enough that she truly did belong in Gryffindor. Bloody interfering old slag.

The rage he felt towards the Head of House was only matched by his fury towards her parents. How dare they talk down to this wonderful woman? They raised her! Surely they knew how intelligent and driven she was- every Slytherin parent was aware of the same thing. _ Then again,_ he thought,_ perhaps this explains everything-her fanatic dedication to her studies, her respect for authority.._.

A moan drew him back to the present. Like a shot he was back in the other room, smoothing the damp hairs from his Apprentice's forehead. Poor girl.

Though she was still asleep, she was obviously in distress. Summoning a damp rag, he proceeded to bathe her sweat covered face. He could use magic, he supposed, and simply _Scourgify _her clean, but if there was anything that he'd learned in his life of little to no human care it was that the comfort of another's touch often did more than magic ever could.

Her lips pouted and the crease between her brows deepened for a moment before her eyes fluttered open. Her sad amber orbs looking up at him from beneath sooty lashes, tears still pooling in their depths. With a shuddering breath she squeezed them closed again, reaching up to grip his wrist, apparently willing down the tears.

Several deep breaths later, and they were open again.

"May I have some water, please?" She whispered. Her voice was very hoarse from her cries.

"I'll do better than that. Nutt!"

"Master of Potions called Nutt," said the elf, winking into view.

"Miss Granger requires a light meal, she is unwell. Please inform Professor McGonagall that Miss Granger is feeling ill and be sleeping through dinner, and inform the Headmaster that I have a potion that needs tending. Then bring tea for two with sandwiches and desserts up here. You know the ones I like."

"Fibbing to the Headmaster, Professor?" Hermione smiled weakly once the elf had disappeared. "Shocking man." _Shocking, darling, wonderful man…_

"I'm sure he can manage without me for one night," he responded with all seriousness. "However I am finding myself growing highly dependent on my Apprentice. I expect to find her lost in a potions tome happily forgetting about the bat of the dungeons and find her in a fit of hysteria instead."

Hermione bit her lip and cringed. "I'm so sorry, Professor. It has been a very trying twenty four hours."

"Twenty six- it has been twenty six hours to be precise." Hermione frowned, then looked at her bedside clock, which read five.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. How long have you –"

"I came here immediately at the end of classes, now don't change the subject." Professor Snape grasped her jaw lightly to make her look directly at him. "I will only ask you this once, Miss Granger. Why were you so upset? And don't say the letter from your parents- _yes I found it, foolish girl, thank Merlin you don't play Quidditch_- upset you so badly that you A) missed every meal today, and B) did not report to me this morning, and C) refused the Disgraceful Duo entrance to your home."

"How did you-"

"I heard them in passing as I was heading up here. They could hear you crying."

"Damn. I didn't put up the charm fast enough. Did anyone else-?"

"No, and I have reinforced the charm with my own as well should there be, God forbid, another fit like the last one. That's enough from you, I am the one asking a question."

Hermione wrung her hands together. She didn't want the Professor to hear her reasoning. It seemed so silly now, she couldn't understand why she had flown off of the handle.

"The Headmaster wanted to discuss my post-Hogwarts education," she began. "At first it all seemed so ordinary. He asked what I thought I enjoyed most. When I started going on about potions, he cut me off with some rubbish about me having an aptitude for Transfiguration." Still seeing the insistence and the total lack of regard for her opinion in the Headmaster's eyes, Hermione grasped the Professor's hand as she curled onto her side, keeping him close as the tears came, quietly but there none the less. "He said that for my own safety and for the safety of the Order that I had to become a teacher. That there was no one else for the job and that there was nothing else to be done. He went on and on about my brilliant mind and being up for the challenge. When I said that I'd think about what Professor I would like to Apprentice under, he asked me to honestly tell him who I'd like to work with the best. I told him-" she sobbed a bit before regaining control, "I said that I wouldn't mind working in the Hospital Wing, but that I _truly, TRULY_ wanted to work in Potions under you. And-"

Professor Snape gripped her hand in return, ever so slightly, but in a gesture of comfort no less. Hermione could have cried all the harder for that, the precious man, but she couldn't break down. Not again.

"And he said that I couldn't. That he refused to even entertain the notion. He went on and on about it being a man's field and that I would endanger myself or you. I wouldn't would I? Be endangering you?" That was the worst part: the doubt. She had skirted the issue beforehand but now he was here, and she couldn't bear it any longer. "Please, I'm not endangering you at all, am I? I couldn't bear it if you were hurt because of me." _I'll die first_, she silently added, knowing that if she voiced it aloud, he would silence her.

"No, you are solely beneficial to me. The Dark Lord will not harm me because of you. You are completely unrelated to any punishment he hands me."

"Oh, God!" Hermione tried to sit up. "It's Thursday! You had Meeting last night, and-"

"I've already taken a relaxant and a pain relief potion, woman, stop panicking."

Hermione settled back on the pillows just in time for Nutt and a smaller female elf to pop back into view.

"Nutt is bringing Master of Potions and Miss Granger's tea." The grandfatherly elf ushered the female, a child elf judging by her size and uncalculated movements. "Nutt is also bringing his littlest little girl baby elf, Amelia, to practice House Elf-ing."

Amelia was tiny, even for an elf. Her hair was comprised of three fat Shirley Temple curls of dusty brown as bangs and three tied back with a piece of twine in the back. Her ears were especially big and floppy, and Hermione thought she was downright adorable. She wore a little girl's tutu shrugged up all the way under her armpits so that puffed down and grazed the floor like a ballgown with no bodice. Her nose was particularly small, roughly the size and shape of a perfect strawberry, and her ridiculously long lashes brushed her brows every time she blinked her enormous blue eyes.

Amelia felt all tingly looking at the beautiful lady who was sick and the dark man who seemed unable to leave her side. He was holding her hand quite tightly (or was she holding his?) and he did not look away from her sad pretty face. Amelia was very happy she had chosen the prettiest tea-cozy. She wanted the lovely lady to like her very much, so that she could be her honorary Elf, like Nutt was to the Professor.

"Thank you, Nutt, and thank you, Amelia, for taking care of us. You're doing an excellent job." Both elves ears turned a little pink and they grinned shyly. The Professor noticed this and chuckled a bit, though his face was still a mask.

"Put the tea things on the table in the sitting room, we will be in there shortly," he said. When they were gone, he helped Miss Granger to stand, casting a light drying charm on her dress and removing her white silk bathrobe from its peg on the back of her door. He couldn't help but notice that she looked beautiful, despite her red and blotchy complexion.

He was surprised and pleased, as well as uncomfortable, when she did not release his hand upon standing, choosing instead to lean heavily against him as she walked.

She did not sit on the one of the chairs or the couch, to his amusement. She promptly settled herself down on the rug before the fire, her long legs stretched out before her as she leaned back against the coffee table.

He didn't say anything as he prepared her a cup. Hermione was glad. She wasn't up to talking much more. She smiled when she saw that the trays were filled with all of her favorites- cucumber sandwiches, buttery crackers with marmalade, scones and clotted cream, deviled eggs, and (joy of joys!) a special fudge she'd only had once with her mother when they'd had tea at Harrods.

"This looks delicious," she sighed. She quirked an eyebrow at him as he handed her teacup to her and promptly set the dishes out on the floor before them, picnic style.

"What? I can't talk to you way down there. You're short enough, we don't need to make it worse by my standing and your sitting."

Hermione laughingly smacked his calf as he stood to make his own tea. He won the war against grinning at her playfulness, but it was quite the battle.

They talked of lighter things for a while. The escapades that she had missed and the funny things his students had foolishly included in their papers. Hermione was irritated to hear that Harry and Ron had made a snide comment about the Professor bottling her for Potion's ingredients and earned Saturday detentions. Severus assured her that she would not be forced to sit with him in detention. Instead, to stem her flow of protests that it was her job, she would be running errands for him in Hogsmead and Diagon Alley.

"If you just tell the shopkeepers to put things on the school's account beforehand, they'll hand things over without a care towards proper quantity or quality. Try to get a young clerk who hasn't learned the ropes yet to get you everything before bringing up payment." He warned.

Hermione relaxed more and more as the evening wore on, but suddenly, around nine, she stiffened and flinched.

"The wind is so loud," she said. "I've always hated the sound. It sounds like crying."

Severus agreed with her assessment of the wind, but he was more adept at hiding his reaction. The grandmother clock chimed nine, and Severus summoned Nutt and Amelia to take away the empty tea set and platters.

"Professor…" Hermione crossed her arms and looked pointedly at the floor. She was terribly embarrassed, but the wind was so loud, and the hurt and fear were just too fresh, and Severus… "Severus, please stay with me tonight. Just until I fall asleep."

He averted his eyes as she slipped the yellow dress from her body and replaced it with a soft white night gown with bell-sleeves. As she turned towards him, he reached out and began tying the yellow ribbon that closed the front. It was very intimate. His knuckles brushed the flesh just below her collar bone, and she wanted to push up against him, to make his hands wander down further to her sensitive breasts. Was this how he felt whenever she buttoned or unbuttoned his robes or frock coat? Merlin, she must have been torturing the man.

Severus didn't want to break contact, with her body or her eyes. Seeing no resistance or repulsion in her eyes, he slid his fingers over her delicate collarbone, her narrow shoulders, down her sleeve-hidden arms, to her fine wrists and small hands. Leading him to the bed, she lay down on what he supposed was "her side" of the bed. Still unwilling to remove his hands and go around to the other side, he gently balanced himself over her with one knee, pausing to look at her.

Their position was not lost on either of them. He held both of her hands in his, standing on one leg beside the bed, his other knee on the opposite side of her hip.

The big turquoise eyes with long lashes did not miss the fact either, and the body they belonged to squirmed with joy. Surely she would have a Master as well as a Lady! And she faded out of existence like mist.

Hermione and Severus stared at each other for what seemed like a long time. Then, slowly, Severus lowered himself to her other side, drawing her near, as sleep over came her.

(((HG)(SS)))

Severus did not sleep though. He was fortifying himself, building a plausible story for what he planned to do.

He was struggling with his composure, more than he ever had to do when facing the Dark Lord, more than when he had to face down the glares and accusations of the Order. He was trying very hard not to do two things.

A: Kill Minerva McGonagall and the Drs. Granger in the most brutal way imaginable.

And B: Take advantage of Hermione Granger.

It was her scent that was killing him. Lavender and old books and tea and honey- the things that surrounded her. Beneath that was the aroma of her rose soap and her minty breath. And beneath that…the warm, musky, undeniably feminine scent of _Hermione_. He wanted that scent wrapped around him. Hell he wanted _her_ wrapped around him, all tightness and patience and warmth. The longing that had been eating away at him for nearly two weeks told him to catalogue everything away for later. Her scent, so intoxicating he wondered if he was actually high; the feel of her soft breasts pushed against his chest, and of her leg thrown carelessly over his, unaware of the proximity of his steadily hardening cock to her warm center; the unnerving desire to steal something of hers- a handkerchief, a hair ribbon, a pair socks- as a memento of the night.

When he was absolutely sure that she was asleep, he quietly stole his way out of bed, accidentally brushing her hip with his nether regions. Stifling a groan of frustration and desire, he quickly located his boots and his wand and prepared to leave. But he stopped. Something in the corner had caught his eye.

A clothes hamper.

_A fucking clothes hamper._

Without a second thought, other than to silence his movements so as not to wake her, he began digging through the hamper like a desperate man digging for water. More than once he grabbed a handful of fabric and pulled it to his nose. Finally, he caught himself. What was he doing? Surely she would notice if half of her wardrobe was missing.

He hurried to the closet and began quietly and quickly buttoning himself back in his composed clothing. He had to get back down to the dungeons and then go to the teachers' lounge. He couldn't appear in front of the other teachers in his…condition.

Just as he was leaving, unable to resist the temptation dangling right in front of his eyes, he snatched a thin white scarf he'd often seen her wear from its place on a closet hook. He took a long whiff, stuffed the fabric in his pocket, and hurried down to his dank domain, holding her scent in his nostrils for as long as humanly possible. Then he held it longer.

**(((HG)(SS)))**

The minute he reached his rooms he made a beeline for his bedroom. He didn't have time to unbutton properly. Instead, a wandless incantation quickly rid him of his clothes, making them appear perfectly folded on a chair in the corner.

Except for the scarf, which remained in his hand.

Wrapping one hand around his shaft and holding the heavily scented fabric to his nose with the other, he began to pound. Growling in frustration, he flung himself down on the bed, desperate. He bunched the fabric so close to his face he was in in danger of suffocating, but his danger of exploding was more important. Taking himself in both hands as he lay on his side, he jerked his hips. He mercilessly pounded in and out of his own grip, imagining it was her tight, warm, velvety center. Having her scent close by made everything so much more real. He remembered her breasts pushed against him and her leg flung over him.

He gripped himself so tightly it almost hurt, and he deserved it. He was getting off thinking of a girl he'd taught less than a year ago! But she was just so…Hermione.

It was the sound of his name on her lips that did him in. He imagined her voice climbing higher and higher in pitch and volume, quicker in succession. Her tongue caressed his name, her lips wrapped around it and transported him to another world. His name was punctuated by her pleas for more, for him to go faster, for him to go harder. Finally, she screamed his name out, just as his hands tightened around himself and her name was wrenched from his lips.

Severus lay there in a pool of his own cum, enveloped in shame. And the worst part?

He hoped that one day, it wouldn't be just him.

He who never hoped for anything.

And he was frightened.

_He loved her. _

Fuck.

**Author's Note: I hope you all like Amelia, because this littlest little girl baby elf is here to stay! That's right, K8-Amelia, you have inspired an everlasting character! I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving. Do you know what I'm thankful for? REVIEWS!**


	7. NOT A CHAPTER-AUTHOR'S NOTE

Author's Note: 11/26/13

Hello, my lovely and loyal readers! As you know if you've read my profile, I am a college student, so I will be taking finals in a few weeks. I'm sorry to say that FanFiction, in all of its glory, has been distracting me from my school work. I love you all lots and I love to write for you and read your stories and the ones you've favorited on your profiles, but I have to focus on my schoolwork for now. Unfortunately, I'm doing distressingly bad in College Algebra and Chemistry (See, if this were Arithmancy and Potions, I would have no problems). I hope you all understand when I say that I won't be posting anymore chapters until Christmastime.

On a more positive note, this means that all of my creativity will be stored up for you, and will explode by then! So, by the week before Christmas you should all expect to receive three-to-seven chapters just in time for the holidays. I find this appropriate, because those chapters are going to revolve heavily around Christmas. I will also be posting the New Year's chapter on New Year's Eve. Things may go on like that for a while.

If you want a time estimate for the end of the story, I am guesstimating mid-September to Halloween of 2014. I want you guys to have a thorough understanding of what this couple is going through, and the story ends with Severus's trial (Shock and awe! A spoiler? Nope. Read the Prologue. Y'all know it's coming) at the end of October. **THIS ROUNDS TO BETWEEN 40 AND 60 CHAPTERS TO GO.**

I want to thank all of you for reading and following my stories, and being generally amazing. If there's anything I'm thankful for this Thanksgiving, it is you all. You are wonderful and beautiful and amazing and I love you all so dearly.

There is a lot more coming in the story, so I have some things I want to ask you, my viewers. If you pleas, answer as many of the questions as you choose, and don't be afraid to be blunt in your opinion. Feel free to ask me questions (though I will be very vague with any spoiler requests), and don't be shy about requesting specific events to happen in the story!

**oOo**

**On My Writing Itself:**

Is there anything I can do to improve the quality of my writing, aside from catching the occasional grammatical errors before I post?

Is there information missing, or is there anything that gives away too much too soon?

Is my organization easy for you to follow? Can you follow the plot with relative ease, or do you have to backtrack to see what in the world I'm blabbering about?

**On the Plot (as is):**

Is there anything in the plot that offends you, or that I need to tone down? (I.E. language, innuendo, graphic/sexual content?)

Do you find the plot believable?

Are the characters believable (if not totally out of character?)

Is there anything that you believed happened too soon or without enough warning? Is there anything you would like to have happened by now?

Thus far there have been two sexual instances in the five chapters (not including the Prologue). Does this seem like a relatively good ratio, or is this too much too soon?

What characters (aside from Severus and Hermione) do you want me to focus more on? (This story will be very in-depth on Severus's relationship to Dumbledore and the Dark Lord, and Hermione's changing perception of them, so have no fears on that front).

Is there anything (aside from Severus's "other project"- looking for a _her_, by the way, as mentioned in Chapter Two: Gambling Man) that you feel requires more clarification in coming chapters?

**Wish List:**

This is for future stories that I will begin posting while THE HELPMATE is still in progress. Please pick the three you would most likely read:

Hermione is inducted into the Order and must train under another Order member to go undercover. Working alongside Snape proves to be difficult when emotions get involved.

Severus is in love with Hermione, but how can he possibly tell her? A series of love letters eases the tension, but what happens when she finds out?

Hermione is taken prisoner by Voldemort, and her only contact to the outside world is her evil Potions Master. As time goes by, Severus and Hermione change each other, but can their new connection survive the outside world and its prejudice?

A few weeks in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor leads Hermione to make a life changing promise. Who can help her fulfil it? Severus Snape, of course!

Hermione receives a letter from Severus asking her for her help- problem is, he's supposed to be dead. Can Hermione ease him back into the outside world, or will she be drawn into his?

Draco and Hermione are Head Boy and Head Girl when the Muggleborn Marriage Law comes into play. Toss in the Orphans of War Mandatory Adoption Act, and you have nothing short of a happy, dysfunctional, beautiful mess.

Draco has been in love with Hermione for as long as he can remember. Hermione is the same. SO WHY CAN'T THEY OWN UP TO IT, FOR MERLIN'S SAKE? A year as Head Boy and Girl may just change that…maybe…hopefully…it's a distinct possiblilty…

oOo

That's all for now lovelies! I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving, I am so thankful for every one of you! Good luck on any finals for all you college students, and keep up the good work in general for anyone in any grade!

Love, hugs, and ice cream sandwhiches!

Green'n'Gold


	8. Chapter 6: Never His

Chapter Six: Never His

**Hey, Lovelies! I hope you all had a lovely Thanksgiving and are ready for Christmas. I know I am! I'm hosting chapters six today, seven tomorrow, and I'll give you the Christmas chapters (eight and nine) on the thirteenth or so. You might have ten through thirteen as soon as Christmas Eve, but no promises. I'm going home for the holidays and my parents may be unaware of my FanFiction as of yet…*nervous giggles***

**I've highlighted the date so that nobody gets confused. I think I'll start putting a guesstimated date at the top of the next couple of chapters, rather than just what month it is. Even I'm getting a little confused. I would also like to point out that both he and Hermione are stubborn, passionate people, and that as quickly as things are going for the couple, THERE IS A MADNESS TO MY METHOD! Oh, wait…Nope, that's right.**

The wide double doors crashed open with the sound of thunder, making the heads in the room snap towards the entryway in absolute shock and not a little fear. Severus Snape stormed to the opposite side of the room, whirled back around, and proceeded at a much slower pace back to the exact center of the circular area, where he turned slowly in place to make contact with every pair of wide eyes.

The professors looked at their colleague with apprehension and measured fear. All of three times had they seen Snape in this mood. Once when the Board of Governors cut Potions funding in half, once when a Slytherin girl was attacked by a group of randy Gryffindor boys, and the time when he wanted Harry Potter expelled for nearly killing Draco Malfoy. Each time reminded the teachers why their students were so afraid of the young Potions Master. He was truly a force of nature when he was angry. And from the look on his face, this was worse than ever.

"I want to make something perfectly clear to you all," he said. "I don't care about what House the student is from, I don't care about their gender, or their supposed aptitude for a subject- If I _ever _find a student in the same state as I've just found Miss Granger, I will personally ensure that you never have a solid's night sleep again in your miserable lives."

"What's the matter with Miss Granger?" Poppy asked, alarmed. The rest of the room was in a similar state of anxiety.

"Miss Granger did not report to my classroom this morning. I tolerated this, until I realized that she was also absent from lunch," he paused dramatically, casting a critical eye around the room as he gazed coldly at his embarrassed and worried coworkers. Idiots, the lot of them. "I see that none of you, despite your…_affections _for her, noticed that she was missing. Typical.

"I went to Miss Granger's chambers immediately after classes to inform her that she need not report tomorrow morning to assist me in my Saturday detentions, or to run my errands in Hogsmead and Diagon Alley, as she was apparently unable to follow the simplest timetable."

"Severus, you said the girl was upset! How can you expect her to-" McGonagall interrupted, immediately leaping to her cub's defense.

"SILENCE, YOU IGNORANT WOMAN!" Severus shouted. Severus Snape never shouted, especially at a woman. He was not his father- he didn't need volume to get his point across. He visibly forced himself to mellow, though the fury was still evident in his eyes. "I was obviously unaware of this when I went up to her chambers to inform her of her dismissal. I passed the Dunderheaded Duo on my way there, and I heard them whinging about her crying in her room instead of spending time with them. I wrongly assumed it was the result of some teenaged drama." Severus began to wind his way around the teachers' lounge, making eye contact with each and every person, holding Poppy, Filius, and Septima's eyes a little longer than anyone else's.

"What I found was a broken woman. She was absolutely hysterical. She was burrowed on her couch with her arms flung over her head like she was expecting to be struck. I had to physically transfer her to her bedroom, where I literally had to force feed her two doses of a Calming Draught and a mild dosage of Dreamless Sleep. She had worked herself into a fever. He was half delirious by the time I found her.

"What, Minerva McGonagall, do you think caused this mania to overwhelm your prized Gryffindor Princess?" He asked as he came to a complete stop before her chair.

"I'm sure I don't-"

"No, you fucking don't, do you?" He lunged towards her, pinning his hands to her armrests to block her escape. "You wrote her parents trying to get them to coerce her to take your Apprenticeship and their reply upset her to the point of a nervous breakdown. Do you want to know what damage you've done to her? Here." He flung the wadded letter in her face as he stormed from the room.

"I don't give a rat's ass about you're stupid bet. You've all let down your precious Know It All with your blind assumptions and utter disregard for her opinions or abilities. Good luck ever getting her to trust the lot of you ever again, much less forgive you. You've all but destroyed her faith in this school and what it stands for."

With a swirl of his robes, Severus left the room. Let the whole useless lot burn for what they did to his witch.

Severus froze in the middle of the corridor. _The _witch. Not his.

Never his.

Merlin, what had he done? Surely they would be suspicious of his defense of the girl? Damn and blast! He was an imbecile. He'd let his emotions run away with him over a woman whom some would still call a child.

There was no choice, really. He had to make her miserable. She had to despise him, somehow, for some reason. How else could he shield her from the damage that surely followed everyone he lo- cared for?

The answer came to him easily. She wanted to help him, didn't she? She thought that she could stomach the sacrifices of war? Well, fine then; she would see the monster that the sacrifices of war had created. It would hurt. Oh, Heaven and Hell, it would hurt. But he deserved it. He deserved to be in pain. He deserved an eternity of pain for every impure thought he'd had about her.

He refused to think about the pain he would be causing her.

(((HG)(SS)))

Hermione woke up just as the sun was beginning to gray the sky. Alone

It had been a dream. God was a sadist to give her such a wonderful dream and then bring her to an empty wakefulness. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and willed back the memories and the tears. Comforting arms wrapped around her, the warmth of the fire, and the simple pleasure of sitting together…it had all seemed so real. Stifling a sob, she buried her face in a pillow and forced herself to take deep breaths, letting the scent that clung to it comfort her…

Scent?

Hermione sat bolt upright, the pillow pressed to her nose. It _had _been real! Hermione knew immediately that it was the Professor's scent. He smelled of weak cologne, homemade cigarettes, and Firewhiskey; herbs and something chemical that was distinctly _Potions Master_. It was an earthy, masculine, unique combination, entirely Severus…

Oh, Merlin. She'd called him Severus. To his face. Had he reprimanded her? She didn't remember. She was too distracted by the ghost of his fingers along her collar as he tied her nightgown closed. She savored the memory, then the next memory of curling against him. They way she'd fit so perfectly against his body. The inexplicable, indescribable feeling of rightness that had determined her last though of the night: _yes._

It was simple really. He brought her peace; he made her feel happy, and wanted and content; he made her feel safe. And she was fairly certain that he felt at least a little similar, if he was allowing her to have so much liberty with him, and if he was allowing himself the same.

She loved him. And maybe he loved her?

The idea left a warm, comfortable feeling in her chest. She wasn't quite sure _what kind _of love it was, and she wasn't too worried about defining it yet, but still... Were they student and mentor? Apprentice and Master? Was it a friendly love? Family love? The love of comrades in arms? Oh, Merlin, was it romantic love? As a child, he had certainly been a father figure, albeit a stern disciplinarian and a dreaded authority. As she grew older, she had appreciated him as a remarkable educator. Upon understanding his position in the War, she was in awe of his courage and dedication.

Hermione took one last long whiff of the pillow, then forced herself from her bed. As she was pulling her dressing gown over her shoulders she heard the grandmother clock in her sitting room chime five-thirty. She wandered into the kitchen and started a pot of tea as she summoned her day planner from its place on her desk.

The Professor had told her that she wouldn't need to help him supervise detentions, but she was going to stop in and see him anyway- she wouldn't be able to leave until at least eight thirty, when the shops all opened, and his detentions started at seven. Brushing her hair over her shoulders she looked over her shopping list. She was rather glad that she was going to Diagon Alley that day, since she had some Christmas shopping to do.

Having put him at such an inconvenience the night before, Hermione felt that she should do something for him. Knowing that he was always in his office by six o'clock on Saturday mornings, getting as much work done as he possibly could so that things were in order for when the Dark Lord called him, she had no trouble guessing that he had forgotten breakfast again. Brushing her teeth and putting on a touch of makeup were easy enough, but now she truly felt like she had to- no, _wanted _to dress up for him. She wanted him to think she was pretty. She considered her closet as she braided the sides of her hair and tied the two tails back from her face with a lace ribbon. After some consideration, Hermione chose one of her more traditional dresses, since she was going to Diagon Alley.

The traditional way of dressing for witches was something in the magical world that Hermione had a love-hate relationship with. On one hand, the dress she'd chosen reminded her of Christine's blue dress in _Phantom._ It was beautiful and elegant and unique. On the other hand, it was so complicated to put on! Contrary to popular belief, only the poorest and richest of witches wore robes daily. The middle class usually wore Muggle clothing, albeit centuries out of fashion.

Hermione began the tedious chore of dressing in the era-costume-esque clothing. Hermione removed her clothes and pulled on her thigh-high stockings and her boots. She had felt odd when she had first started wearing traditional witches' clothes, about putting her shoes on before any of her clothes, but she soon learned that putting them on once he was already dressed was impossible without the aid of magic or a House Elf. That left her tying her knee high black stiletto boots in nothing but her underwear. Hermione then pulled on a soft chemise and began lacing the front of her corset closed. Once everything was tucked away, she fastened the garter straps to her stockings. On top of that went a stiff petticoat (yes, they still existed), and a white gown with thick vertical lines of shimmering pearl ribbon running down it and a thick white ruffle at the square neck-line and the hems of the skirt and the long white sleeves. Over all of this, Hermione pulled on the over dress of the palest blue. It was fitted in the sleeves, and she smiled as she buttoned the silver-and-pearl buttons at the wrists, thinking of her Potions Master. She buttoned up the front and made sure that her ruffled collar wasn't caught beneath the dress's lapel. Hermione turned and admired the design as she stood before her mirror. She liked the way the over dress buttoned at her hips, then gathered in the back at her bottom, creating an affect similar to that of a bustle, but not as obtrusive. It looked rather like a riding habit, or something from a picture book about a princess.

Hermione giggled. When was the last time she had felt like a princess? The Yule Ball three years ago, surely. Now she felt just the same in something considered everyday-wear.

Dressed to the nines, as it were, Hermione dabbed a bit of her rose scent behind her ears and on her wrists before pulling her black cloak with its hood from its peg and reached automatically for her white scarf…But it wasn't there.

Hermione was a little upset by this. This was her favorite scarf, a gift from her grandmother on her father's side, and she wore it nearly every other day. Trying not to be distressed by losing something so precious to her, Hermione picked up her covered shopping basket, her drawstring purse (which she buttoned into a pocket hidden in the pleats of her dress), and her black leather gloves as she walked out the portrait hole.

Severus was knee deep in detentions that morning. He was expecting three Hufflepuffs, a Ravenclaw, one Slytherin, and a half dozen Gryffindors (not including the Dimwitted Duo). On top of that, he had been so caught up in his defense of Hermione that he had thrown himself into his work that night to keep from thinking and not slept since. His energy stores usually reserved for his mental shields were completely drained-

And there was someone knocking at the bloody door at six thirty in the morning. Who showed up to detention thirty minutes early?

Miss Granger slipped inside, two steaming mugs of coffee in her hands and a basket on her arm. Ever since that October day in the dungeons, Severus had found that it was futile to say that Hermione Jean Granger was unattractive. She was lovely; all in all, absolutely lovely. But on that day, **December fourteenth**, exactly one day before they would sign her contract, he saw her as absolutely, totally, indisputably, undeniably, jaw-dropping beautiful. He was very glad that he was sitting down, because surely this vision would have brought him to his knees.

Damn her. She just had to make this difficult.

"I come bearing coffee for the surly Potions Master! Have mercy!" She teased. Teased. The angel was teasing him, and he was going to ruin everything. On purpose.

"That depends on the quality, Miss Granger," he finally choked out. He was disappointed to hear that his voice still carried the tone of familiarity he'd come to use towards her when they were alone. He drew on all of his magical reserves and put the energy into _Occluding_ his positive emotions towards the girl.

"I know you said I didn't have to be here for detentions, but the shops won't open until eight thirty at least, so I may as well help you get some work done." She smiled as she reached his desk, setting the noticeably darker brew in his hand, their fingers brushing. They both felt the tickle of contact as it burned up their arms. Severus tried to hide his shock and embarrassment, driving all of his emotions further into the recesses of his psyche, while Hermione's grin widened a bit. She knew it.

She noticed something under his arm, and she reached forward to lift his hand from his desk. He was so focused on the feel of her hand wrapped around his wrist, the burn of her fingers permeating his many layers, he did not notice what she was reaching for until the papers were in her hands.

"No!" He croaked. She wasn't supposed to see those! He tried to snatch them back.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She said, dancing away from him when he reached towards her to grab back the papers. "These are amazing! Oh, you're wonderful!"

Her words hit him directly in the softest, most vulnerable part of his being and the Hermione-sized hole it left in his shields let everything come rushing out. All of the other words that his heart had held onto as truth, words said by everyone, from his abusive father to his two Masters, cowered in the darkest recesses of his soul, hiding from the glaring light of her words. _You're evil, you're wrong, you're worthless, you're disgusting, you're sinful, you're pathetic, you're a coward, you're stupid, you're ugly, you're sickening, you're vile, you're dark, you're unworthy, you're weak, you're unlovable..._ it all bowed down to her two thoughtless words in fear and awe: _you're wonderful_.

"Hardly, Miss Granger," he snarled, but he did not reach for the papers again.

Hermione, for her part, wasn't lying. He was wonderful, in more ways than one. He was brave and intelligent and charming…and apparently, artistic.

"Sir, I had no idea you could draw so well."

"It isn't something I advertise, now, is it?" He growled. He wished she would just give him back his papers. He didn't know how to react to her praise. This did not fit in with his plans!

"Sorry, I was just surprised, I suppose," she said. "I shouldn't be, of course. I've always thought you had artist's hands." She handed his papers back to him with a shy little smile, which widened when she saw the slightest widening of his eyes. "I especially liked the rose, by the way. Interesting way to use your red ink. Are you running low, by the way? I just want to make sure there's nothing else I need to add to the list before I go shopping."

"I could always use a bit more ink, these students get stupider every year." Severus's beetle black eyes lit up maliciously without a bit humor, his eyes dead as they looked somewhere at her forehead, refusing the connection offered in her copper orbs.

Hermione frowned. Was he in such a bad mood today that he was shutting her out? Never, not in all of her Hogwarts career, had her Potions Master deliberately brushed her aside. Mocked her, belittled her, and scorned her, of course, but never ignored.

"I'm sorry for any trouble I caused you, sir, with yesterdays…events."

"Events?" He hissed. "You label that maniacal hysteria you subjected me to as merely _events_?"

"Sir-"

"You, who thought yourself so high and mighty that you could handle being a spy, being a double agent beneath a double agent. You, who assured both myself and yourself that you were mature and intelligent enough to handle the pressure. You, who gets a nasty letter from home and falls apart!"

He immediately regretted his words as he watched her face drain of all color and vibrancy. She swayed on her feet for a moment before collapsing in a chair. It took all of his willpower not to go to her. He felt his fingers crack as he gripped the armrests of his desk chair with the effort not to simply beg her forgiveness. He shouldn't have said any of those things, he knew. It was going to be Lily all over again, but worse, because this girl was under his protection and soon to be his Apprentice and he had done it all on purpose. It was worse because he knew that if he did, now or in twenty years, that she would immediately forgive him. He could have destroyed her childhood home in a fit of rage, and she would not only forgive him instantly but tend his wounds and soothe his ire as well. And he would never, ever deserve it, so he would never, ever ask.

Hermione forgave him instantly. There was nothing _to _forgive. She'd behaved poorly, without restraint. It was unbecoming of an adult woman. It was unworthy of a witch. It was unworthy of her Potions Master. Oh, Circe, was she unworthy of him. Her, with her inflated ego and cheeky intellectual confidence. She'd endangered him (no matter what he said on the matter, she knew it was true), pried into his personal life, and then foisted her own problems upon him.

"I'm sorry, Sir. Forgive me," she said, bowing her head in contrition. "I should have gotten myself under control. I'm so sorry I put you at any inconvenience. It wasn't worthy of a Potions Apprentice, or a spy. I've made you ashamed of me and I deserve it. If you wish to cancel our deal, I'll understand."

Severus was stunned. She truly believed that she was at fault. There was something…heart-wrenching in her immediate assumption of guilt. Not for a moment did she lay any blame for his behavior on his doorstep. Instead, she'd simply accepted the fault as her own and asked his forgiveness. No one had asked for his forgiveness and meant it before, as she did now. And never had he given or been granted _true _forgiveness. Dumbledore's brand of forgiveness was earned in servitude, and the Dark Lord's through groveling and punishment. Never had it been given freely. She hadn't said the words, but he could neither see nor sense any resentment or grudge of any kind in her tea colored eyes, which were pooling with unshed tears. Tears he had caused.

He would find another way. He couldn't make her cry, he just couldn't. Of all his girl students, she was the only one who had not at least whimpered under his wrath once or twice in their Hogwarts career. Even his Slytherins were not entirely excluded. But not his Miss Granger.

Never his.  
"Silence, silly girl. Of course we're going on with the contract. We're signing it Sunday morning, exactly-" he cast a silent _Tempus_, and the time scrawled through the air. "-twenty three hours and thirty minutes from now. I understand the pressure you're under, but you must remember that you placed yourself in this situation, and you're not leaving any time soon.

"In short, you are exempt from any of the Gryffindor-guilt I know is plaguing you."

Hermione was no longer looking at her lap or the floor. Instead, she looked straight at his face. He wasn't looking at her, in fact, he turned his head away. But that wasn't the only gesture he made. He slipped his hand into the pocket of his robes, where she could see something made of white silk.

Just like her scarf.

Hermione felt like shouting out a big, loud, obnoxiously Gryffindor victory cheer. Because even though he wouldn't say it, or acknowledge it, or do anything remotely telling, she knew that Severus Snape cared.

Maybe as much as her.

Maybe romantically.

That was the moment that the students decided to file in for detention.

_Merlin's balls,_ Severus thought. Hermione was thinking in similar, if more colorful, terms. They certainly had their timing down pat. This was one of the few times that Severus wouldn't have taken points for tardiness. Hermione stood and went to gather her basket.

"Stay," he barked

Severus froze. He didn't know why he said it, or if it had really made it past his mouth and into the open. His only consolation was that if he had been heard, his voice was hard and cold, the tone he automatically used when students were around. Hermione apparently heard him, tone and all, and stopped reaching for her basket, instead leaving it on a stool and coming to stand beside him.

"Today you will be scrubbing the cauldrons, desks, and the floor, and all other equipment as well. Miss Granger has kindly offered to assist me today and will be helping me grade papers. We will both be watching you." It was not lost on either of them that the students were bewildered by Hermione's presence in detention (voluntarily, they might add). They also noted, silently, with a knowing glance between the two of them, that the Disastrous Duo were absent.

_Bloody buggering hell. This _would_ be interesting when they arrived._

Hermione was about to sit in a stool, when Professor Snape pointed his wand at it and Transfigured it into a smaller, effeminate version of his own; then he adjusted his desk's length and height to accommodate them both; and finally, realizing that he couldn't adjust either the chair or the desk any more, he turned a small stepping stool into a foot stool to keep her feet from dangling.

Hermione sat on his right, noting that it was the same side of the bed she had slept on in respect to him, and that it was presumably where she would sit next to him at the High Table next term. Sitting quite happily next to her favorite wizard, Hermione immediately began grading some first year essays, smiling as she looked over Mary Greene's improved spelling. After having dictated what each student's specific task was for the five hours of detention, Severus came to sit beside her. Hermione pressed the side of her leg against his. Seeing her mark a comment on Greene's improved spelling with a note of encouragement, he returned the pressure. They did not move apart.

They graded papers for an hour, one of them occasionally lifting a head to remark on the students' progress (Severus, fiercely; Hermione, gently). If anyone had been paying attention, they would have noticed how the two of them moved together. If Severus sat straighter, Hermione did, too, so as to remain in whispering distance; if Hermione leaned back in her seat, Severus relaxed also, his angular arm brushing against hers as he wrote. Once in a while one of them would ask a question, or make an observation, but mostly they sat in companionable silence, each preoccupied with their own thoughts. Hermione had decided on a few Christmas gifts for him. Severus already had hers, so he considered the final touches on her contract.

Suddenly, at eight o'clock sharp, Harry and Ronald barged (Hermione danced, they barged, McGonagall swooped on occasion…could Gryffindors never simply _walk_?) into the underground room; late, sweaty, and royally pissed.

"Hermione, we've been looking everywhere for you!" Ron bellowed. "McGonagall said you wouldn't come out of your room, and when we got in, you were gone!"

"Lower your voice, Mr. Weasley," Severus sneered. He didn't like the possessive tone to the boy's voice. As far as he was concerned, Weasley had no rights to the girl.

"Why'd you do that, 'Mione?" Potter continued. "You locked yourself away all day yesterday, then you disappear!"

"For your information," Miss Granger growled. "Yesterday I was extremely upset. I wasn't fit to be around people at the moment."

"Well, sorry we interrupted you're cry-baby moment, but we really needed your help yesterday!"

"I wasn't exactly of much use, yesterday, so I couldn't have helped anyway," she mumbled. Severus felt her knee press forcefully against his own, and he pressed it right back, offering silent encouragement.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, sit down _now_!" Severus thundered. "You are an hour late to detention, therefore you will each receive an extra night with Filch."

"But it was an emergency!"

"For goodness' sake! What was the emergency?" Hermione asked. Now she was genuinely worried.

"We're going home Sunday and we need your help-"

"If you say the word 'packing', Ronald Weasley, I'm going to hex you into oblivion."

"Well, who else will help us? You know Ginny's rubbish at it, and-"

"POTTER! WEASLEY! PARK IT OR GET THE HELL OUT OF MY CLASSROOM!" He was in fine form now. How dare those insolent boys show so little care for their friend? "You're a disgrace. Gryffindor loyalty my ass. Start on those floors or I'll personally rip you apart." By this time he was on his feet, spitting his words at the boys, nearly breaking his fingers against the edge of his desk. "HOW DARE YOU COME IN HERE **LATE**_** AND WHINGING ABOUT SOMETHING AS TRIVIAL AS **__**PACKING!**_**" **

Hermione could feel the heat and anger and loathing rolling off of him. If he didn't sit down soon, hexes would start flying. Trying to be subtle, Hermione brought her hand to rest on the back of his leg, just above the bend of his knee, pressing ever so slightly with her fingertips. He stiffened a bit, then slowly relaxed.

As he sat down, Harry and Ron remained standing. Harry was glowering at the hated Potions Master while Ron seemed to notice that Hermione was looking pretty damn pretty today. Hermione moved her hand to his knee, rubbing soothing circles with her thumb.

"I believe you have your orders, _boys_." Snape snarled. He didn't like Weasley's attention to the witch at his side, and…well, he never liked Potter. Refusing to look at them again, Severus quickly squeezed Hermione's hand, then returned to his grading. When she moved her hand away, his leg felt cold. Her fingers felt empty. They pressed their legs against one another to make up for the lost contact.

Harry and Ron scrubbed at the floors like they were wiping the sneer from the Potions Master's face, but they slowed to a lethargic, grumbling pace after that. Once in a while, one of them would shoot Hermione (the traitor) or Snape (the git) a poisonous glance. Snape would sneer, his Apprentice-to-be would sigh, and nothing more would happen.

At eight-thirty, Hermione had to go. As she stood from the desk, Snape rose. "I must escort Miss Granger somewhere. If I find one thing out of order, I'll make the remainder of this detention the most miserable three hours of your lives."

Hermione was about to return the furniture to its original state when Severus reached out and lowered her wand, forbidding the spells. It would remain exactly as it was.

At the top of the stairwell leading out of the dungeons, Severus held the basket as she donned her leather gloves. He set the basket on the ground as he took the cloak from her small fingers and tied narrow black ribbon at her throat, his knuckles ghosting her pulse points. He felt her throat hitch beneath his touch, and swept the fingers of his right hand over her collar while his left rested gently on the back of her neck, the thumb brushing up and down the smooth column of her throat while the fingers twined idly in her hair. After a few moments, excruciatingly long moments which passed incredibly fast, Hermione "awoke" from her peace, smiled sleepily at him, and left him holding nothing but air.

As he walked back to his classroom, the ghost of her scent followed him.

Roses.

**Author's Note: I want y'all to be completely honest with me. Are Snape and Hermione moving too fast, or is the pace alright? Not that I can really stop them now, but just for my next story (which I will begin posing in January). Is there anything I can do to make them any better, or is anything throwing the story off for you? Do I need more plot or conflict, or is everything alright so far? Please let me know if anything is off to you! If enough people are concerned about a specific issue in a story and I think it's a valid point, I have no issues going back and changing something. These stories are for you! I want you to love them! Later, lovelies!**


	9. Chapter 7: Humming

Chapter Seven: Humming

Hermione was just buttering the toast when the flames in the living room flared green. She was setting breakfast things on the table when she heard her Professor call for her from the hearth.

"Come on through, I'm just finishing breakfast!" She called back. "How do you like your eggs?"

"Scrambled, if you please," he responded, striding into the powder blue-and-white kitchen like he owned it. "You actually use your kitchen?"

"I asked Nutt and Amelia to stock my fridge for this morning. Usually, I just eat in the hall or I ask them for something light. I don't like to trouble them too much for things I can do on my own. Don't tell Ron I have a stocked kitchen! He'll break in."

_Again_.

They were silent for a while. They often lapsed into these silences, simply relishing in one another's nearness. Severus hoped Hermione didn't realize how fond he was of these moments. She would balk at the very next instance and he would lose the one person in the world he gave a damn about, to put it mildly. Hermione knew of course, but she'd let him come around. _Stubborn bastard_, she thought affectionately.

Severus watched Hermione move about, as busy as she ever was in her own quiet way, and was hit by a wave of something that could only be described as longing. Hermione was swaying about the kitchen, wearing simple Muggle clothes. Her white dress shirt was covered by a knit rose-and-mauve-colored pullover, the tails of the shirt sticking out from the hem of the sweater, untucked from her closely fitting jeans. Her hair was pulled back in a plain, but messy bun, several tendrils escaping from the scrunchie (ridiculous word), and there was no trace of makeup on her already perfect face. He liked watching her dance from place to place, counter to stove to table and back again. And most of all, he liked to hear her hum.

It was a habit that he had unfortunately picked up in their two weeks of tea (_two weeks?!_) to ask her for something. A book. A pirouette biscuit (she never _could_ remember which shelf). A specific quill or a parchment of notes. When she searched for things, she would hum. It would start out quietly, a whisper of a sound. Soon a tune would be discernable, punctuated by random utterances of "_la di da dum…_" when the inarticulate closed mouthed sounds would not do a song justice. Finally, he would catch a snippet of a song, just half a verse or so, and she would miraculously find what he'd forgotten he'd asked for. And in those moments, he didn't watch her constantly. Those were few precious times that he allowed himself to lean his head against his chair and close his eyes.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at him. Sure enough his eyes were closed. His face was relaxed in a way she'd learned only happened when she was humming or singing. She felt an unsettlingly pleasant sense of triumph. He liked her voice, and he trusted her enough to let his guard down. Hermione continued humming, moving to and fro to make it sound as though she were still working, but really, she was just watching his face.

He was rather handsome, to her anyway. His face was angular with a sharp chin and high cheekbones that jutted out. His cheeks were hollow, like he didn't eat enough, although he'd gained a bit of weight since their teas began. His brows were dark and heavy, but not bushy, and forever angled in a derisive sweep. He had long, sooty lashes that brushed his cheeks, and his lids traced with butterfly veins of the pales purple. His eyes were ringed with bruises of insomnia. His nose was admittedly large, too large for his face, like he hadn't quite grown into it, but still regal and aristocratic. She rather loved his nose. It was such a defining feature of his. But she especially loved his lips. They weren't thin when he was relaxed- certainly not full by any standards, but they weren't thin. His hair wasn't horribly greasy this early in the morning because he hadn't yet been hanging over a cauldron for eight hours straight, and he'd just gotten out of the shower.

The moment she stopped humming she turned around to face the stove, turning it off. She heard him snap to attention, back on his guard. Back behind his walls. She felt her heart break a little bit, but soldiered on with a smile as she placed a mug of black coffee and a sugar bowl in front of him. "Is there anything else you want?"

"No, this is quite adequate," he responded. "Perfect. I think I shall add breakfast to your list of duties."

Hermione's head snapped up from the egg-and-bacon sandwich she was making him. His snarky signature smirk was firmly in place.

"We're really signing aren't we," she stated, rather than questioned. "It is all about to become very real."

"It was always real, Miss Granger. It's the proximity of the matter that has changed. Time has caught up with us."

They finished their breakfasts in silence. Hermione was discomfited by this, and with a wave of her wand the room filled with a soft swell of music.

"Nat King Cole?" Snape asked.

"I like older music, usually. It's just…better, somehow. More like how music should be."

They moved to the living room. The grandmother clock read six thirty. The Professor enlarged an official looking document and handed it to Hermione to read.

_This document officiates the bond between a Master and his Apprentice. _

_The Apprentice in question is required by the Master:_

_To be available to the Master at all hours, day or night, regardless of the date._

_To obey the Master without hesitation in all things._

_To be studious, inquisitive, and teachable._

_To follow through with the arrangement for the full three years._

_To consider the Master to be the highest authority, despite the rank of others._

_To assist the Master in all things without judgment or reserve._

_To strive for the highest quality of work._

_In Return, the Apprentice in Question is promised by the Master:_

_Room, board, and education._

_Protection from harm._

_To provide the best available education in the Science and Art that is Potions._

_To never abuse, misuse, or take advantage of the Apprentice in any way._

_To be patient, knowledgeable, and trustworthy._

_To assist the Apprentice in all things; personal, financial, and academic._

_To be an authority figure worthy of the Apprentice's trust._

_The universal Laws on the relationship between Master and Apprentice:_

_The Apprentice is honor bound to the Master for life._

_For the duration of the Apprenticeship, the Apprentice cannot marry without the permission of the Master. _

_It is expected that the Apprentice would give their life for their Master and likewise. Loyalty, devotion, and honor must have no bounds._

_The Apprentice will belong, in mind and body and soul, to the Master of Potions for three full years, at which time the Apprentice will be judged and either be denied or awarded the title of Master of Potions. The Potions Master will accept responsibility for all things in regards to the Apprentice's education and wellbeing. _

_The signed Master and Apprentice have approved these terms, and they are prepared to undertake their responsibilities to one another. _

Hermione put the paper on the coffee table. "Are all magical contracts so straight forward?"

"Miss Granger, do read. There is _nothing_ straightforward in that contract." Severus rolled his eyes. "You must take into account that the majority of Potions Masters have been Slytherins for the past three hundred years, aside from the occasional Ravenclaw."

Hermione reread the contract in it entirety. "So…basically I'm selling myself to you for an education, and I'll still be honor bound to help you in whatever way I can, even after the Apprenticeship is complete."

"Yes."

"Alright then, now that we've got that settled, shall I get a quill?" She tried to stand and was jerked back around to face the Professor. "What?"

"One, I've a specific quill in mind which must be used for the signing of Magical Contracts. And two…you don't seem to grasp the severity of the contract's implications."

"I understand them perfectly," Hermione said quietly, but firmly. "They are harsh and unmoving, and I will never, ever be able to escape the bond. But they also name you my protector, my _magically bound_ protector, and even the Dark Lord will not contest that at risk to his favorite man. Also, this will draw out my usefulness to either side, as well as yours. And finally," she smirked, "you don't have an excuse to get rid of me."

Seeing that he wasn't going to move, much less argue, Hermione wordlessly summoned a raven feathered quill from his pocket. She recognized its kind immediately and knew that she would not need to get any ink. It wasn't until she heard the Professor's sudden intake of breath that she realized that the quill was drawing _his _blood. Likewise, as he finally signed, his name was scrawled into her skin- not on the back of her hand as Umbridge's quills had done, but on the delicate skin of her inner wrist. Snape immediately produced a bottle of Dittany and a cotton ball to heal the cut. It immediately scarred silvery white, barely noticeable on the Professor's pale skin, but Hermione's Greek mother had blessed her with an olive complexion year round. The scar wasn't as visible as it would have been in the summer, but it wasn't pale enough to hide the scar. Hermione stared at his name, written on her skin. His writing was slanted, narrow, and sharp.

He was branded on her. She was branded on him. They were inextricably, irrevocably bound.

Severus rolled up the parchment, sealed it with his signet ring, and banished it to the Ministry to be processed.

Hermione looked at him.

"Well, that was rather anticlimactic."

They chatted for maybe another half hour, but everything was too heavy now. They chalked it up to the finality of the parchment currently being filed away by an uncaring desk clerk, who didn't even glance at the paper before tucking it in an empty cubby and sealing the little door with a seal of confidentiality. But they knew, _they knew_, that it was because for the first time in three weeks, they were about to be separated for a week and a half, at least. Hermione couldn't stand it anymore.

"That's it! You're getting an early Christmas gift." She sprung from her seat and ducked into her room.

Severus waited for her while she rustled around in her room. She'd gotten him a gift? He didn't realize he'd spoken his shock aloud until she answered him.

"No, I got you _three _gifts. I just can't wait for this one. Sorry for not wrapping it." She gracelessly shoved a green leather journal with silver gilded pages and a black ribbon bookmark into his hands. Imprinted on the front on the bottom right-hand corner were the words "Property of Severus Tobias Snape, Master of Potions" in what he recognized as her fine handwriting. He could feel the faintest thrum of her magic, so faint that if he wasn't so attuned to her, he wouldn't have noticed it at all.

"It's enchanted?" He asked.

"I have its twin," she said, showing him the red leather book with its gold pages and black book mark. "Look." Pulling out a quill, Hermione began writing in her own copy. He suddenly felt an awareness of his own journal, and a strong desire to read what was inside.

Opening it, he watched in amazement as the words kept appearing in her small, neat writing.

_ S-_

_ This is the first of your Christmas presents. I hope you don't mind receiving it early. I simply won't be able to stand an entire week without a real conversation with you and I have no patience with Owl Post. My parents aren't exactly fond of it, either. I do hope you like it. If you don't mind, I'd like to "talk" to you over break. Quite often, actually. I fear I'll be rather lonely without you. _

_ Happy Christmas, Severus._

_ Yours,_

_ H._

It took him a few minutes to respond. When Hermione was just beginning to fidget, he wrote back in his own.

_**H-**_

_** This is the best Christmas present I have ever received, and I am forever grateful for it, as well as you. This is impressive Charms work, and will certainly eliminate the hassle of Owl Post…I'm quite at a loss as to what else to say. Please do write me. I shall be rather lonely for you as well.**_

_** Happy Christmas, Little Witch.**_

_** Yours,**_

_** S.**_

Hermione stood to put her journal on the coffee table, walking over to his chair. Without doubt, without fear, and without hesitation, she plucked his journal and quill from his hands and set them down. Suddenly, Severus found himself with a lapful of Apprentice. Nothing inappropriate. Just sitting on his lap, her arms around his neck as she rested her head on his shoulder. He didn't know when his arms had snaked around her waist and shoulders, but he was loathe to move at all.

They sat like that for some time. Eventually, the combination of the clock chiming and the numbness in his legs forced Severus to relieve himself of his Apprentice (he could call her "his" now, couldn't he?). He stood still, looking down at her as she straightened his robes to her liking. He could think of a thousand things he would rather do than leave the witch right now.

He never could tell anyone what possessed him to do it. One minute he was gazing down at the top of her curly head, and the next he had pressed his face into it. Her face was buried in his chest, her arms tight around his waist. He had one arm twined around her shoulders and the other tangled in her hair (where had that ridiculous scrunchie gone?) as he took long, intentional breaths of her scent. It was so much stronger in the mornings.

He didn't catch what he was doing until his lips were pressed to her hairline. _Oh, shit_.

Hermione felt him tense. Knowing that any second he was going to make a run for it, she tilted her head until her lips caught the underside of his jaw, where his throat met his chin, right on the pulse point. She let her lips linger, inhaling as deeply as he had done, before finally pulling away.

"Happy Christmas, Severus."

And the Potions Master was left standing in shock as his Apprentice danced back into her room and closed the door.

Anticlimactic indeed.


	10. Chapter 8: Mistletoe

Chapter Eight: Mistletoe

**Merry Christmas, my darlings! I hope you're ready for what the chapter title implies! Urgh, I'm gonna pee myself! I've been waiting for this chapter since I was half way through the Prologue! But this is just the beginning…OF THE END!( of Severus's resolve). We're- Well, Hermione's wearing him down. **

December 24

Hermione stood in front of the mirror, frowning. It was five in the morning at Grimmauld Place, and she had just snuck in. This was no easy task due to all of the wards Mad Eye had put up, but with all the training he'd forced her and the boys to endure over the summer, she knew his favorite wards and how to deactivate and reactivate them without setting them off or leaving any hint that she'd been there. Unfortunately, there was no training going on at present to explain away the bruises.

She didn't understand. She remembered her father being different- swinging her up on his shoulders at the tender age of six and explaining the phenomenon of butterflies; buying her ice cream on the premise that her teeth would be brushed within the hour; reading her _one more_ bedtime story every night. If she had asked, she knew her father would have moved London to a cloud in the sky for her.

That all ended with her magic. Her father used to spank her when a vase exploded inexplicably, or a neighbor's hateful dog ended up in a tree. _That's very bad, Hermione Jean. Jesus doesn't love little girls who can't be normal._ Of course, her Sunday School teachers had all told her that Jesus loves _all _little girls, but they didn't act like they believed it. Neither did the other children. Grandma Rose, her paternal Grandmother who'd given her the scarf, was the only one who accepted Hermione's oddities.

As she got older, the spankings stopped and the groundings started. Hermione's mother Helena, a Greek immigrant, began trying to verbally beat the magic out of her daughter. Her husband took turns following suit and completely ignoring the pair of them.

When McGonagall came to tell the Grangers about Hermione's abilities, they were quick to accept the explanations. They were also glad to learn that her "abnormalities" were not their "fault." They thought she would grow out of it. By her fourth year, though, Helena and Jeremy Granger had lost all hope of having a normal daughter. They tried to make her put "the wretched fantasy world she lived in" behind her and come back to the "real" world. She refused.

Hermione didn't get any sympathy, not that she'd been looking for it; she just wanted confirmation that she didn't deserve that kind of treatment. She'd tried talking to Harry, thinking he would understand. He said that she should be grateful to have parents at all, and just lie low around them if she really upset them that much. Ron brushed it off with a "that's bloody awful, 'Mione- hey, pass me a drink." Hermione didn't tell anyone else about the verbal degradation because if her own best friends didn't see an issue, why would anyone else?

But now her father had hit her. _Hit her_. She hadn't been spanked since she was nine or ten years old, but even then her father had never left a mark on her. He had never put his hands on her in such a way. He'd never struck her in the face.

Hermione stared in the mirror, examining the damage. Her left cheek was a blue-gray mess from the slap itself, and the sharp prong of his ring had left a deep, scraping puncture because he'd backhanded her. Absentmindedly, she remembered that he'd always been rather proud of his class ring.

This was serious, she knew. She knew in her head and in her heart that she didn't deserve to be treated like this, but neither her mind nor her soul deigned to remind her until after the fact. She was a well-educated, intelligent, capable witch. She should be able to hex them into oblivion, by Godric! But instead, here she was, applying cosmetics and glamour charms.

Hermione had charmed her cosmetics to look natural no matter how thick she put it on, so by the time the bruise was coated with the caking foundation, it should have blended in perfectly with the rest of her skin. Still, though, the ugly bruise showed through, perhaps because she knew where to look. A final, desperate glamour charm made it appear as though she had never been struck in her life, when, as late, it had occurred all too often.

Her face was effectively covered until at least midnight, when she would reapply the various charms she'd used to keep the makeup from fading or rubbing off. There was nothing she could do about the purple blooms on her wrists, arms, and shoulders. Her right hip was worse than her face from when she'd "fallen" into a bookshelf. The puncture there was significantly deep, but she didn't know how to heal it and she was loathe to ask for help. She would have to watch it.

She slipped into the bedroom she usually shared with Ginny, but seeing that "her" bed was covered in Ginny's discarded clothes and other junk, she opted to find another room to sleep in. Grimmauld place had nine bedrooms, she knew. It suddenly occurred to her that her good Professor had a lab with a sofa up in the attic.

She was happy to find that it was unlocked, albeit a bit confused as to why her Master's wards were not up. Slipping into the room, she lay her rucksack on the floor at the foot of the couch and lay down. Under the mixed scents of potions ingredients and smoke, Hermione could sense the subtle cologne she labeled _Potions Master_, and she breathed it deeply. Before she knew it, she had fallen asleep.

_Safe…_

Severus sat downstairs in the library. He had felt Hermione's magic nearing the wards on his lab and had immediately allowed her access. He reached out with his magic towards the lab and felt for her presence, trying to sense what she was doing. He was surprised when she fell asleep. He had thought that she was looking for something in the lab, something she needed. But, then again, perhaps she felt more comfortable sleeping surrounded by the ingredients she loved, like him. More than once he had fallen asleep in his lab, and he supposed she was the same.

Satisfied that his Apprentice was apparently comfortable as well as safe, he returned to his previous task. He didn't know when it had become a habit. During their whopping nine days of separation, he had constantly read and reread their previous conversations through the journals. He was rather attached to his gift, and sensed that she was the same. His black eyes wandered over the pages again.

December 20_:_

_**YOU SET MY ROBES ON FIRE?**_

_Well, you see…_

_**ON **__**FIRE**__**?**_

_It was an emergency! We thought you were the one jinxing Harry's broom. Of course we were wrong, but you can't hold that against me! I was twelve for Godric's sake! And I happen to have had a rather hard day, and I would much rather talk to you civilly than be shouted at, even on paper._

_**I'm sorry. The information simply surprised me. What, pray tell, has made my unwaveringly patient and cheerful Apprentice of Potions upset to the point of backtalk?**_

_I'm sorry for back talking-_

_**Just answer the question, Little Witch. I can practically feel your disquiet in the pages. **_

___Oh, I'm sorry. One of the Charms is to convey the emotions of one correspondent to the other. Sometimes writing, I've found, doesn't convey tone properly-_

_**Hermione…**_

___And I thought, perhaps, that in order to avoid any confusion-_

_**Miss Granger, you're stalling and I don't appreciate it. What's worse is that you are worrying me by it. I thought the point of our little escapade was to reduce my troubles, and yet I find your avoidance of the topic distressing.**_

Severus did feel highly distressed by her topic skirting. She was usually quite open with him,__something he greatly appreciated in his life of lies and subterfuge. A fibbing Hermione was something he was not prepared to deal with.

_Do you remember the letter you read? The one from my parents?_

_**Naturally.**_

___It was quite mild compared to living with them. I am their Neville Longbottom._

Even four days after the fact, Severus was forced to swallow his anger. Their conversation continued, on safer and more mundane topics of course. That day had been bleak. But he wondered. And wondering was not something he liked to do. Severus Snape was the king of the Know It All realm, and he wanted to know what was wrong with its queen.

He moved onto their very last conversation.

December 23:

_I'm so very glad that we'll see each other soon, Severus. I've missed you so dearly._

_**You're crying. Why are you crying?**_

_ How did you know?_

_**You're tears are appearing in the journal where they're splashing on your page. What is wrong, Little One? Tell me.**_

___It's nothing. Nothing more than the usual. I'm simply out of tissues. _

_**Hermione, if you don't tell me what's going on, I swear…**_

_ Dad found me reading one of my Potions books. My favorite, actually. _Moste Potente Potions._ I saved up all last summer to buy it and I finally got my hands on a copy. I'm not allowed to look at magical books when I'm near them, and they weren't home…and then they were and the next thing I knew the book was in the fire._

_**I'm so sorry, Little Witch. I'm so very sorry…and angry, on your behalf. I foresee your father and I coming to fisticuffs if I ever meet him.**_

___Don't say that Severus, please._

_**I didn't say it, I wrote it, but I will neither speak nor write on the matter ever again if that is your wish. But I must ask you something. And I want you to answer me truthfully. **_

___Yes?_

_**Are you afraid?**_

___I have three fears to speak of, Severus. Heights, failure, and losing you. So no, not right now._

_**Let's hope you never have to be. **_

___Severus?_

_**Yes, Hermione.**_

___I miss you. I wish it was tomorrow. _

_**I miss you, too, Little Know It All. **_

Last night, he had destroyed and reconstructed the lab in which his precious Apprentice now slept no less than three times. The Drs. Granger were imbeciles to treat their daughter so. He finally calmed his nerves by brewing a batch of extremely deadly poison, his own recipe, unnamed until he fondly labeled the single vial _Vindicta et Lacrimis_. Such a closet romantic he was…

How strange this would be. They had quickly fallen into familiar ways of speaking, though he couldn't tell if it was her being her overtly comfortable self or him being over indulgent of his little Apprentice. First names; endearments (on his part, he couldn't stop himself); teasing; saying things like "I miss you" and "I wish you were here." It was all very out of character for him, and he wondered that she didn't catch on.

Severus forced himself to stay downstairs. By seven o'clock, Molly Weasley was in the kitchen. He turned down her offer of tea. The few times he'd had tea made by anyone but her, including himself, much to his chagrin, he'd spat it back out in disgust. The Weasley matriarch was one of the few people he did not thoroughly detest, and he was loathe to insult anything she gave him, even if her care was only extended with half a heart. It didn't take a Legilimens to see the reluctance in her offer. It was better than how others viewed and treated him, anyway…

_Except for Hermione_, he reminded himself. Yes, if anything in the world was a comfort to him, it was the clever, beautiful witch sleeping on his couch upstairs. The woman he loved, and couldn't confess to.

Eight o'clock came and the rest of the house ambled downstairs. Still, she did not show. Severus allowed himself to be cajoled by Molly into the kitchen, where he sat on the bench at the farthest end. No one sat near him. No one passed him any of the food, and he wasn't very hungry anyway.

"Ooh, bacon!" Hermione said as she waltzed into the kitchen. Conversation stopped for a moment, but quickly started up again, full of greetings and laughter. Severus stared at her from his place, trying to be covert in his attention by making it seem as though he were glowering at the fuss the others were making. She looked a bit thinner, paler, sadder, and it broke his blackened, undeserving heart. It was a common fact among the teachers that she was prone to ignore hunger and fatigue when she was stressed. Rarely did a teacher deign to mention it- certainly not himself, who had no care for the Gryffindor Princess.

But he couldn't help but notice. Her skin seemed papery, and her ashen complexion was not lost on him either. His Apprentice had not been taking care of herself. Or…had others not been taking care of her? His stomach clenched at the thought of her being unable to care for herself, or of others deliberately ignoring her needs.

He watched her move about the kitchen, speaking all the while.

"When did you come in, 'Mione?" Ron asked. Hermione winced at the appellation, but continued to make the cup of coffee she'd started.

"I came in early this morning. Didn't want to make anyone get up earlier than they already were, so I just crashed on a couch until I smelled bacon. Then all I could think of was bacon, and if you ask me a question, all I will probably be capable of answering is 'bacon.'"

Severus's eyes zeroed in on the coffee she was making. Black; two sugars; no milk. Just the way he made…his.

The rest of the table froze as she placed the mug in front of him without ceremony, before turning to make her own. No sugar; hazelnut flavored cream.

"Mum and Dad left yesterday for a dentist's retreat in Wales, then they're catching a plane to France for the rest of break."

"Oh, you must come stay with us!" Mrs. Weasley's declaration was chorused by the rest of her brood. Again they were silenced as Hermione summoned the platters of bacon, eggs, and toast to her way. She sat right beside Severus as though it were the most natural thing in the world. And perhaps, for the two of them, it was, but certainly not in front of an audience.

"I'd love to, really I would Mrs. Weasley, but I was really just looking forward to a quiet break at home. I have some things to get sorted out before next term, and I'm afraid with all the books I've got lined up, I'll be terribly boring!" Hermione made a good sized egg-and-bacon sandwich- one he knew from her eating habits was much too big for her. His suspicions were confirmed when she placed the sandwich in front of him and made one half the size for herself.

"Hermione, what are you doing?" Ron asked. Was she off her rocker? Why the bloody hell was she sitting by the Greasy Git?

Hermione looked up at him, a bemused smile on her face. Meanwhile, Fred, George, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley were all giving him a look that clearly said "what's your problem," but they were also obviously curious.

"I'm eating breakfast," she smiled. She pressed her leg against her precious Professor's knee and was gratified when he returned the pressure. She didn't need to look at his face to know that his mask was fully in place. Biting her cheek to keep from laughing, she turned her attention to her food. _Bacon!_

"Morning," Harry shuffled into the room and went to sit by Hermione…until he saw who she was next to. Instead he moved down by Ron. "Hey 'Mione, come sit by us."

"I'm fine," she replied, nonplussed.

"Hermione, really, just come sit with the rest of the kids!" Mrs. Weasley said with forced cheer.

"I'm hardly a child, and I don't see why I should move. Am I bothering you, Professor?"

"The only thing bothering me is the nagging of your peers, Miss Granger," he groused. His hand, however, came to grip her knee beneath the table, informing her on no uncertain terms that she was not to move an inch.

Hermione felt a bit hot in the plain gray turtleneck she'd worn, but she couldn't very well remove it. The Weasleys would be outraged, but would never act on their various threats towards her parents. Her teachers would see it as an excuse to keep her at Hogwarts for longer than necessary, and Severus…

Well, despite everything, Hermione didn't want her parents dead. And there was no way for her to hold him back from seeking retribution for her, no matter what her tance on the mater.

"Come off it, 'Mione, are you still mad about the train?" Ginny said.

"What about the train?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"No, I'm over all that-"

"_What about the train_?" Mrs. Weasley asked. If it had Hermione sitting next to that man, her children must have done or said something incredibly stupid.

"Nothing, Mrs. Weasley. Nothing at all. I just got a bit upset after a letter from my parents."

"Ron didn't make it any easier, calling her a cry baby." Miss Weasley was eager to pass all blame to her brother. She and Harry had snickered a bit behind their hands. Hermione was always going on about the pressure her parents put her under. Didn't she realize she was the witch in the situation? The only pressure she was subjected to she created for herself!

"It was my fault, Mrs. Weasley. I overreacted." Hermione reached under the table to rub circles on the back of her Master's hand, which had tightened painfully on her leg. As his hand relaxed, he began soothingly sweeping his thumb back and forth, offering silent comfort.

"I'm going to be in the library if anyone wants me today. I'm dying to get my hands on some of the books upstairs!"

"Cor, Hermione, you just got here!"

"And? You aren't starving for information about my life, Harry. I've written you _and_ Ron _and _Ginny twice since break started and you didn't even respond. Also, you've done nothing but interrogate me and nag me since I sat down! So forgive me if I want a little while to myself."

And with that, Hermione stomped out of the kitchen, leaving half of her breakfast behind.

The table stared at Snape like he was the one who caused everything. With a smirk, he finished his breakfast and took his coffee with him to the den. No sooner had he sat down than he felt the urge to open his notebook again. He'd come to realize the difference between the magical coercion and the school boy addiction, but it was so subtle that it still surprised him sometimes when he felt her quill on the parchment. He put his mug in the sink and retreated to the bedroom adjoining his lab.

December 24:

_I'm so sorry, Severus, I don't know what happened back there._

_**Oh, the usual bickering and blaming isn't your fault. I think that the majority of your peers will be sporting concussions for a few days with all the slaps they received. **_

___Bollocks, I feel awful._

_**You certainly should. What were you doing, sleeping in my laboratory?**_

___How-_

_**Dear girl, who do you think lowered the wards for your entrance?**_

___Saint Nick, of course._

_**Ho…ho…ho…**_

___Do you reckon it's worth the risk for you to come sit with me?_

_**I wish I could, Hermione, but there's always a possibility of my being called on holiday nights like tonight. I must rest. **_

___Oh. I was just thinking…_

_**Yes?**_

_ Do you remember how we sat after we signed our contract?_

_**Hermione, I'm a man. How do you propose I forget having a lapful of Gryffindor Princess?**_

_ Ha ha. Well, I was just thinking of how lovely it would be to read sitting like that again. _

_**Little Witch, you aren't making restful thoughts easy for me.**_

___I've missed you so, Severus. _

_**And I you, Dear One. I shall see you at the party tonight. Good day, Hermione.**_

___Sleep sweet, darling. _

Severus closed the journal around the bookmark, caressing the cover as he placed it with reverence on the pillow beside his head. He took a mild dose of Dreamless Sleep to edge him into oblivion.

His last joyous thought before he succumbed to sleep:

_She called me 'darling'._

(((HG)(SS)))

Severus was glowering from a chair in the corner, feeling horribly like a child put in time-out. And the worst part was, he'd fallen for it.

It was an incredibly ballsy thing for the Weasley twins to do. Honestly? Trapping their former Potions Master in a corner? He might let Gryffindor gain twenty points upon his return to Hogwarts…oh wait. He had an Apprentice to do all of his unpleasant tasks, didn't he, now!

Enchanted Mistletoe, WWW edition. Clever really. He was trapped in the corner until midnight unless someone released him with a kiss. And there was only one person whom he would even consider kissing.

Something was off with his Miss Granger. Sitting quietly in his corner, gazing about the room, he had the opportunity to watch her without reserve.

She was favoring one of her hips. Also, she was obviously hot, but would not relinquish her stifling outer robes and instead cast a cooling charm periodically. She checked her face in whatever reflective surface she passed. No one else noticed her odd behavior.

Severus remembered his mother moving in such away, acting like this when she was in public, after every beating his father had administered. His mother had covered her bruises with sweaters and makeup too, but Hermione had the added benefit of being able to use her magic, so why hadn't she healed the bruises that were surely being covered?

She looked ravishing, tragically so because he knew what she was hiding. She was a bird with clipped wings- beautiful but broken. Her hair was swept up in combs, and her green

It was nearing eleven o'clock when things came to a head. He tried to get one of the twins' attention. They ignored his frantic signaling. Minutes passed and the pain escalated. At eleven fifteen, a snapping explosion echoed through the kitchen.

"Bloody hell, what was that for?" Weasley griped.

"_That _was for your bloody brothers trapping me in a corner without considering that I might have somewhere else to be." Severus pulled himself to his full height, staring imperviously at the group.

"FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY!" Molly thundered. The twins looked rightfully abashed in the shadow of her fury. "Do you want to get us all killed?"

Oh, her concern was touching, truly it was.

"It's fine, Mum, we've pass coded it."

"We can release him with a word."

"Peppermint! Eggnog!"

The twins looked at each other in amazement. "I set the password!" They simultaneously declared.

_Fucking buggering hell. _

"You mean to tell me that one of us ladies is going to have to kiss him?" Minerva said, scandalized. "You must be joking."

Severus couldn't help but look at Hermione briefly. Her eyes were wide with shock. He bit back a groan, forbidding himself to hope.

"Perhaps Sybil-"

"For the love of Merlin, don't you dare!" Severus thundered. This is bad enough without involving that maniac.

"Molly?" Minerva asked.

"I'm a married woman, Minerva."

"Um…there's something you lot should know…" The twins shuffled their feet.

"It's not just a kiss, you see…"

"Well, more precise, it isn't just a _little kiss_…"

The room stared at them in shock, then at him, and back at the two. Between the two of them, they eventually got the point across.

"It has to be a _real _kiss…full minute at least…and…well…it has to be _active_…"

The room looked at Minerva, and Minerva looked at him. Steeling herself as though for battle, Minerva took a step forward.

"Oh, for pity's sake!" Hermione burst forward and stood between them all. "I don't see what all the fuss is about."

Stepping under the mistletoe, Hermione cast a silencing charm, a disillusionment spell, and put a small shield around them. No one- and they all tried- could get within three feet of them.

Severus's breath was caught in his throat. He wanted to say something, anything. But mostly, he just wanted to kiss her. Hermione was looking up at him, and he was caught in the amber pools. She seemed to search his eyes for a moment or two, an eternity for the both of them, before she smiled, tilting her head up towards him.

Severus closed his eyes as her hands wound in his hair. Her fingers swirled in the sensitive dips behind his ears. They roamed over his throat and down his chest before finding his face. He couldn't help but lean into her hands as she traced the outline of his eyes, his nose, his lips…

"Are you going to kiss me or not?" Hermione said suddenly. Her voice was quiet, gentle, even playful. His eyes opened and immediately zeroed in on her rosebud lips.

"Hermione, you don't-" He stopped. Her fingers brushed his lips, silencing him. She didn't understand. She didn't know how quickly he might lose his self-control with her. She didn't know the perverted fantasies his mid created for her. She didn't know he loved her, and if he kissed her, she would, and he would lose her forever.

"Severus, I want you to kiss me. _I want you_."

Hermione guided his face towards hers. The first brush of her lips against his was feather light, hardly there. She left several light pecks on his mouth, and feeling no resistance, gently traced the seam of his lips with her tongue. Severus inhaled in amazement, and she quietly slipped inside, trying to convey everything she felt into one fateful kiss. She smiled into his mouth as he began to respond, gently pulling her tongue into his mouth, and reaching into hers. He tasted like warm alcohol, a pleasantly numbing burn in the back of her throat and in the lining of her cheeks. She gasped in pleasure as his hands skimmed her sides coming to rest high on her waist, grasping her hips to restrain himself. Hermione pressed herself into him, trying to absorb him.

Severus was sure he'd found Nirvana. She was soft and pliant in his hands, and her small sighs of contentment sent shivers down his spine. Her breasts compressed themselves against his chest, sending jolts of pleasure through his entire being. He felt himself hardening as her tea and lavender scent wrapped around him. He twined his fingers in her hair, relishing in the softness of the curls. Her small strong fingers pressed into his shoulders, drawing him closer, closer, and closer still.

Another warning burn erupted from his mark, making him his and clench his hands, probably bruising her waist.

Very slowly, she ended the kiss, dragging it out to the last second. She tugged at his now swollen bottom lip with her teeth as she pulled away, darting forward one last time to lav her tongue over his lips to soothe the bites, savoring his taste. Wrapping herself more tightly around him, she buried her face in the crook of his neck, trying to burn as much of his scent into her mind as possible.

"Severus, please come home."

"I'll try," he said. And he would. If only to ask if what had occurred was real.

They left the corner in a daze, Severus gliding past the outraged Order members to Floo to Malfoy Manor and Hermione vaguely giving some excuse about the library.

Hermione found herself waiting in the lab several hours later. It was two in the morning before she was able to form a coherent thought.

She loved him. It was definite, it was real, and…it made so much sense. How could she have not seen it all before? It was right, it was perfect, it was…

Impossible.

And because it most certainly was impossible, she knew it could, should, and would happen. And she would make sure of it. She had felt _him_ in that kiss. She had felt his guarded heart open up its iron gates to her. She could taste the loneliness, the hope, the sincerity, the honor, the courage, and the passion that made him Severus. She licked her lips for the billionth time, savoring the flavor. It was warm, earthy, and ever so slightly bitter/sour, just like the man himself. He tasted like coffee, Firewhiskey, sleep, and lack thereof.

And she would be damned if she wouldn't kiss him again.

**Author's Note: Agh! Squeals and giggles! The kiss finally happened. It took eight chapters- I thought I was going to die. Ugh, Sev, you prat, you're so slow. But since when does anyone, fictional or non, listen to me? I said, when does- oh, never mind. Just review the damned chapter, please?**


	11. Chapter 9: Healing Hands

Chapter Nine: Healing Hands

**December 25- Christmas Day**

Severus tried very hard not to feel self-conscious as the Order stared at him in utter disgust and loathing. They all knew where he had been, what he had done, and the results thereof. They didn't take into account that it was his job for both sides to participate in the very occasional revel. They didn't care that he suffered every single day for what he did, mentally, physically, and emotionally. All they cared about was that he dared arrive on Christmas morning, drenched in both his own and the blood of innocent others.

Buggering hell, he was in pain. His back had taken the full brunt of a curse cast by that deranged bitch Bellatrix. He wanted nothing more than to go to his lab and lie down, but he had to stay and deal with the consequences of being Severus Snape. He wouldn't be able to heal himself for hours yet, as he would soon be wracked with the convulsions that came after the _Cruciatus_. He didn't trust his own wand work when that happened. The lesions on his arms, torso, and a few jagged gashes on his face were painful enough without searing his flesh.

He wanted it all over with. Didn't they realize he had no new information? All he could do was tell them the who's-who of Death Eater gossip, repeat information that they already knew, and deny having any more. Mad Eye was driving him mad, and having Dumbledore sit there passively, like there was nothing wrong at all while he sat there drenched in gore, unsettled him. It was like needing an appendectomy and one's father acting inconvenienced by one's pain.

"We hear the LeStrange woman is trying to conceive." Dumbledore badgered.

"Bollocks. Woman's a dry vessel." Mad Eye said assuredly. "Too old for babies.

"Bellatrix LeStrange was the victim of a botched abortion. She cannot conceive." Severus affirmed. "But this is private information, known only to certain members of the Dark Lord's inner ring. His head Curse Breaker, myself, and several Healers are working on a cure for magically based infertility. Bellatrix has offered herself for testing. It is my professional opinion that she is too polluted by Dark Magic for it to have much of an effect, but she has, dare I say it, hope. She's only thirty six- it's still possible."

A shuffle on the stairs alerted the adults to the approach of the children. Severus tried to imagine his Slytherins bumbling down the stairs at six in the morning for something as commonplace as Christmas, but he couldn't see it. Before Molly Weasley could cast an undoubtedly painful _Scourgify_ on him, the twins, the two youngest carrot tops, the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Annoy, and his beautiful Apprentice had entered the room.

His heart broke for the second time in as many days. Hermione- his glorious, wonderful, soft-hearted Hermione- froze in the doorway. He drank her in as though for the last time. Her face was pale from sleep, her golden brown eyes limpid and bright. Her hair cascaded down her back and over her shoulders in bronze ringlets. Her white nightgown was tied closed with a bit of pale pink ribbon and her dainty bare feet poked from beneath the lace hem.

He watched in fascinated horror from behind his mask as she took in his appearance. Hermione's beautiful eyes filled with tears and her hand came up to cover her pouting mouth. With a strangled sob, she ran from the room.

His heart wasn't just broken. It was crushed.

Damn her. Damn her for befriending him, for wanting to take care of him. Her and those notebooks could burn for all he cared.

He didn't hear Molly or the others ranting at him. Ruining Christmas, blah blah blah, disgrace as a human, yack yack yack…

She'd abandoned him.

He felt sick at the thought. Or maybe that was blood loss talking? No, he definitely felt sick. She'd left him there to fend for himself. He was trapped in a room of people who hated him- not just what he was or what he was forced to do, but _him_- and she had run through the door as fast as her legs would carry her.

Did she hate him now? Had she come to her senses and turned tail? Their contract was probably being incinerated as he spoke. He tasted bile.

This was what he wanted. This is how he wished for things to be. Hermione was a strong, intelligent woman, and she was going to remain alive and well to bugger others with engaging questions and sweet smiles long after he was gone, because she would be safe and as far from him as she could be.

No more tea. No more talks by the fire. No more knees pressed together under the table. No more looks of silent understanding. No more brushes of fingers. No more buttons or ribbons to be done or undone. No more whiplash from trying to catch another whiff of her perfume. No more casual touches or glances. No more cold toes wiggled under his thighs as they read by the fire.

No more letters or journal entries. No more questions or answers or theories. No more jokes or riddles or gifts. Should he take back her gifts? No, she'd given him something- but maybe she would take it back?

The door opened again.

How long had it been? Five minutes? Three?

She stood there, the evidence of hastily scrubbed away tears on her cheeks. She looked firm and resolute.

"Professor, if you'll come with me, I have some potions waiting for you."

Severus stared at her in amazement. With a tiny smile, she stepped forward, her small hand extended. "Please, sir, you're hurt. Let me."

Severus stared at her hand a moment. The rest of the room stared too. And slowly, so very slowly, he reached out to grasp her small hand in his much larger one.

(((HG)(SS)))

She'd set everything up in the lab.

Hermione divested him of his Death Eater garb, as well as his frock coat, waistcoat, shirt and vest. For the first time, she saw him shirtless. Unguarded.

Hermione let her eyes roam without reservation. His flesh was a patchwork of scars. Marbled reds, puckered pinks, livid purples, and stark silver-whites against his own natural snowy skin. She could make out the different incidents of burnings, lacerations, whippings, intentional cuts, and stab wounds with some difficulty where the marks overlapped. All of this was coated in a sheer layer of drying blood, dirty and staining. It was as though he had walked through the rain and fallen in a pile of rust.

With as much reverence for his pain and dignity as she could muster, Hermione began washing his body with a warm wash cloth. Soon, pinkish rivulets of water were beading down his chest. She washed his shoulders and his torso first before moving to his back, where she knew the real damage was.

Tears streamed silently down her face as she daubed at the inflamed flesh around the newest wound- a slicing hex running from the top of his left shoulder to just below his right shoulder blade. It would not have been so terrible were it not for the cross-hatching moves extending from it. As soon as the wound was clean, she took a vial of Dittany and carefully applied the maximum dosage along the length of the cut, watching with concentrated fascination as the skin knit itself back together. In the end, it was still rather raw- if he rolled his shoulders, he would start bleeding all over again.

"I can't give you any more of this until tonight. I have some salve though that should help for now." She applied the peach colored balm as gently as she could, rubbing it in with light, quick, touch-and-go circles.

She magicked a roll of gauze over the wound then picked up the rag again to wash his arms.

Severus watched, entranced, as she bathed his arms, first his left, showing no reaction whatsoever to the hideous Mark, then his right. Then his left hand, then his right hand. Finally, she sat back on her heels, tracing the lines in his palm. Finally…

It was the dream all over again, but where the dream had felt real, the real thing felt like a dream, a dream within a dream. She placed a kiss in the center of his palm, then turned his hand over to kiss each of his knuckles. Turning his hand once again, she kissed each fingertip, sucking momentarily on his middle finger in a way that made him shiver in the most wonderful way.

He bit back a groan as she stood, but was rewarded for his patience when she turned the cloth to his face. He was soon clean, but her fingers lingered.

He watched her eyes as she took him in, sweeping her fingers over his brow, down his nose, outlining his eyes, cheekbones, and lips.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," she said, pulling his head into her chest. Instinctively, Severus pressed his ear to her heart, his arms wrapped around her waist. _Safe. Warm. Protected. Wanted. _"I'm so, so sorry that this happened to you. I'd take it all away if I could."

He felt her lips press to the top of his head as her body began to shake a bit.

"I thought you'd left me."

Hermione jerked in amazement. She cupped his chin in both hands, forcing him to look at her. "You what?" Her eyes blazed with hurt and disbelief and apology. "You thought _what_?"

"When you ran…I thought you'd left me. I thought you might back out of everything," he took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He focused on the feel of her feather-soft hands on his face, the warm scent of her skin so close to his own. The rounded fullness of her hips beneath his hands. "I thought you might be disgusted with me- with what I've done this night- and that you-"

"You thought I'd abandon you?" She massaged his sharp cheekbones and his temples with her thumbs. "You thought I'd take one damning look at you and leave you flat?"

He swallowed a lump in his throat and nodded, screwing up his face with the effort not to look at her. "I wouldn't have blamed you. I still won't."

Hermione gave a choked sob and pressed her lips to his forehead. She felt horrible. That was exactly what he expected her to do and exactly as she made it appear!

"Never, sweetheart, never," she said. She ran her hands through his silken hair over and over again, reassuring herself that he was here, he was with her, and he was safe. "Oh, Godric, Severus, I'm not leaving you.

"I," she kissed him between his brows, "am here," she kissed him on each closed eyelid, "for as long as you want me." His cheeks. His nose. His chin. They all burned with her kisses. "And no one- not Albus Dumbledore or Tom Riddle or Harry Potter or the Minister of Magic himself will take me away from you, or you from me."

Once again, she pressed him to her chest, but this time, he didn't just listen to her heartbeat. He wrapped his arms around her waist with bruising pressure and buried himself in her breasts, taking great, gulping breaths of his Apprentice's natural perfume.

They stayed like that for a long time.

**Author's Note: Hello, beautiful people! Unfortunately, this is the last chapter I will be posting until about halfway through January. Again, I have to use discretion with my timing. I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas and an even better New Year! Loves! GG.**


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